Secrets
by My Beautiful Ending
Summary: Guerrero has a lot of secrets, things few people know about. He's an elusive kind of guy; he has to be. But a long-hidden past begins to come to light when one secret isn't safe anymore -his daughter.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This takes place after the episode called "Baptiste." I don't know if I'm going to stick to the following episodes after it if they contradict my story. But they haven't so far, so that's good! Anyhoo, I got this idea from something Baptiste said, and I just decided to run with it. Hope you enjoy. This is going to be just in longish drabble form. I think. We'll see how it goes.**

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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It had been four days since the phone call with Baptiste, and it was sticking in Guerrero's mind.

_"I never got to congratulate you on becoming a family man. How old is the little one right now?"_

He was working through the problem, and he thought he had a good solution. He was sure Chance would be okay with it; Winston would be the sticky part.

He wanted to buy himself some time before he pitched it to them, though. So he did what he usually did –went to raid the refrigerator. New girl, Leila, was back, moving some of her equipment into Chance's pad, their base of operations.

"Hey new girl," he said as he passed her.

"Leila," she corrected, pushing a box over with her foot while juggling computer stuff.

"Right," he said, and opened the fridge. Let's see, there was left over casserole, week-old fries, a take home of Indian food, Winston's lunch… _better not take that if I want to stay on his good side,_ Guerrero thought. He saw a box of Chinese takeout behind a milk carton. _I like Chinese,_ he thought as he pulled out the carton. He hunted up a pair of chopsticks and dug in, plopping down on the couch.

Chance walked in and said, "Help yourself," a little sarcastically.

"Thanks, dude," Guerrero said around a mouthful of noodles. Chance rolled his eyes good-naturedly and turned the TV on. "Hey, dude," he said, taking the plunge, "what do you use all those guest bedrooms upstairs for?"

Chance raised his eyebrows. "Nothing. Why?"

"I wondered if you might mind someone filling one of 'em."

"Depends on who it is," Chance said curiously.

Guerrero made a face. "You know I called Baptiste, right."

"Uh huh."

"Well, he knows."

"He knows a lot of things."

"Dude, he knows about …_her_." Guerrero looked in Chance's eyes very seriously. "Don't know how much, but he knows somethin'."

Chance nodded thoughtfully. "And you want her to move in here?"

"Just a thought," Guerrero shrugged. "Maybe new girl could move in too and keep tabs on her."

"Leila," she called from the other room. She had ears like a cat when someone didn't call her by her name.

"Leila," Guerrero corrected himself.

"Sure, why not?" Chance shrugged. "They both can, if they want to."

"Thanks, dude."

"No problem." Chance's look knew. "I understand wanting to keep someone away from the big man." _Right, _Guerrero thought, getting up. "You want me to come?" Chance asked.

"Thought your car was in the shop," Guerrero said, raising his eyebrow.

"It is. We'll take Winston's."

"Oh, no you won't," the black man said, rounding the corner. "I don't know what it is you want, but you aren't taking my car."

"Well, can you give us a ride?" Chance said with a smile.

Winston rolled his eyes and pulled his keys out of his pocket. "You're lucky I was going out anyway."

Guerrero frowned. It wasn't that he didn't trust the guy, he did; Winston was as honest as the day was long. He just wasn't ready for the questions that would come from him. The guy didn't understand that secrets that were long dead and buried sometimes needed to stay that way. Nasty skeletons got dug up, otherwise.

**Please review! It encourages the author.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This takes place after the episode called "Baptiste." I don't know if I'm going to stick to the following episodes after it if they contradict my story. But they haven't so far, so that's good! Anyhoo, I got this idea from something Baptiste said, and I just decided to run with it. Hope you enjoy. This is going to be just in longish drabble form. I think. We'll see how it goes.**

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**PS- see if you can figure out what my favorite book is. It's not that hard ;)**

**2**

"So where're we goin'?" Winston asked as he pulled out onto the freeway. Rain began to fall, drizzling down the windshield. He flipped on the windshield wipers.

"South side," Guerrero said, chewing on a toothpick.

"Can I ask why?"

"Later, dude," Guerrero said, leaning forward. He pursed his lips and said, "Turn here."

Winston obeyed reluctantly. "Okay, so don't tell me. Fine."

"We're going to get someone," Chance said placidly.

"Oh," Winston rolled his eyes. "How specific."

After a few minutes, Guerrero said, "Pull over here, dude." When the car stopped, he hopped out onto the pavement, ignoring the rain. Chance and Winston hopped out.

"Why don't y'all wait in the car," Guerrero said over his shoulder.

Chance raised his eyebrows. Winston said, "Why?"

He turned back around, twitching his mustache. He glanced at Chance, who looked decidedly innocent. "Fine, whatever," Guerrero said. "Chance, you're in charge of him. No questions," he said, glaring at Winston. He shoved his hands in his pockets and entered one of the apartment buildings along the street. He knew Chance and Winston were following him, but he also knew that Chance would keep Winston under control. He ran up two flights of stairs and walked down the hall, glancing at the numbers on the doors. _204, 206, 208… bingo._ Door 210 had a sign on it: "Password required, or the goblins will get you".

He knocked on the door, and a girl's voice yelled, "PASSWORD!"

"Alsan's How," Guerrero said, leaning against the door frame. Chance and Winston were closing in on him.

Locks clicked, and the door opened to reveal a short girl, about eleven years old. Her dishwater blond hair was stringy, and freckles splattered her nose and cheekbones, but she grinned when she saw him. "Hey, dude."

"Hey kid. Is Amanda there?" he asked, smiling in return.

"No. She's out." The girl rolled her eyes, and then she caught sight of the two taller men behind Guerrero. She frowned.

"It's okay, they're with me. You remember Chance, right?"

The girl squinted up at the big blond man. "Oh, yeah. Hey."

Chance smiled. "Hey. That's Winston," he said, pointing with a hitchhiker's thumb at the black man.

"Hey."

"Hello," Winston said.

"You wanna let us in?" Guerrero asked. The girl opened the door, and the guys filed in. She closed it behind them. "Look kid. Somethin's come up. I need you to pack up some stuff for maybe a week and come with me, 'kay?" Guerrero asked.

The girl looked at him seriously, then nodded. "Okay." She disappeared into a back room and Guerrero hunted up some paper and a pen to leave a note for Amanda.

"Okay, you've got to tell me what's going on," Winston said to Chance. "Who is that girl? Why's she going with us? What's –"

"She's coming with us 'cause she's in danger," Guerrero said, licking the pencil. "Her name's Cindy. And she's my kid, dude."

The man stared at him in shock. "…Your kid?!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, dude. Didn't you take that class in grade school that explained how that works?" he asked in a smart-alecky way.

"I _know_ that," Winston said, incensed. "But why doesn't she live with you? Is this Amanda her mother?"

"Amanda's my house mom," the girl said, reappearing with a packed backpack and a pillow. "My real mom's dead."

"C'mon, Cindy. You can explain it to him," Guerrero told Chance. "He won't listen to me, dude." The two of them walked out the door and left Chance and Winston standing there. Chance pulled the door shut behind him when he and Winston walked out.

"Alright, _dude,_ explain," Winston said sarcastically.

"Well, I don't know the whole story, or even much detail," Chance said as the walked slowly down the hall. "I only met Cindy a year or two ago. What I've figured out is, her mom and Guerrero knew each other growing up, or something like that. Weren't the closest of friends. But they lost touch for a long time, something like ten years, give or take. Well, they met up again somehow. Guerrero had become …Guerrero," Chance said with a laugh, thinking of his friend who was everything from thief to information handler to blackmailer to hacker. "She had become an escort. Things happened," he said with a shrug. "She called him a month later because she was pregnant. He helped her out, paid some of her bills, got her back on her feet. He visited Cindy every so often. When her mom died, he paid one of her mom's friends to house her. He takes care of her."

"Wow," Winston said, slightly shocked. "He doesn't really strike me as a family man."

"He's not." Chance smiled. "But he's a surprising guy."

**Please review! It encourages the author.**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: This takes place after the episode called "Baptiste." I don't know if I'm going to stick to the following episodes after it if they contradict my story. But they haven't so far, so that's good! Anyhoo, I got this idea from something Baptiste said, and I just decided to run with it. Hope you enjoy. This is going to be just in longish drabble form. I think. We'll see how it goes.**

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**PS -thanks so much to everyone who reviewed/alerted/favorited! I really appreciate it :)**

They were all back in the car, and Winston had just pulled out onto the freeway.

"So where're we going?" the girl asked. Winston glanced back at the two of them in the back seat. He could definitely see the resemblance between them. _She's like a mini Guerrero, _he thought, and inwardly shuddered.

"We're going to Chance's pad," Guerrero said.  
"Can I ask why?" She said in resigned voice.

"Tell ya later," he replied.

"Has it got something to do with what Chance does? 'Cause I know 'bout that," she said, glancing at the solid blond man.

"…Kind of," Chance said with a rueful smile. "It's one of those explanations that start with 'don't ever try this at home'."

"Oh," she said, understanding. "I get a lot of those."

"Gee, I wonder why," Winston muttered, tapping his hand against the steering wheel. They were getting stuck in rush hour traffic.

"Like what?" Chance said, interested.

Cindy started her obviously long list. "Don't kill people." She pointed at Chance. "Don't steal things." She hooked a thumb at Guerrero. "Don't blackmail. Don't be a streetwalker. Don't break into things. Don't mess with weapons. Don't swear. Don't take things from other people's refrigerator."

Guerrero raised an eyebrow. "I told you that anything in a take home box was fair game."

"Amanda got really pissed at you last time," Cindy informed him.

"As do some other people," Winston said pointedly.

"Dude, the last time I took your lunch was last week."

Chance turned around from the front passenger seat. "What about that –"

"Shut it," Guerrero said dangerously.

Chance just laughed and turned back around.

"Alright, what did you do?" Winston asked. "Because if you took some of that stuff I put in his freezer, I swear –"

"Dude," Cindy said, leaning backwards. "Chill."

Guerrero smirked smugly. "Told you she was my kid."

**Please review! It encourages the author.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: This takes place after the episode called "Baptiste." I don't know if I'm going to stick to the following episodes after it if they contradict my story. But they haven't so far, so that's good! Anyhoo, I got this idea from something Baptiste said, and I just decided to run with it. Hope you enjoy. This is going to be just in longish drabble form. I think. We'll see how it goes.**

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**PS -thanks so much to everyone who reviewed/alerted/favorited! I really appreciate it :)**

Cindy rode the elevator up into Chance's loft apartment and stepped out, taking things in. It was definitely a guy's apartment. "C'mon, kid," her dad said, walking toward the stairs. She followed him, the weight of her backpack bouncing on her back. She didn't have what you'd call good parents. Kinda the opposite; she hadn't gotten a choice picking them, though. But she had loved 'em. That's what kids did. He wasn't around often. Not at all, really. He wasn't even on her birth certificate, though he could probably fix it so that the records were altered somehow. But she understood. It was his way.

"You can have this room," he said, pushing a door open. She tilted her head, looking through the doorway. It was an okay room, kind of small, but she was small too, so whatever. It had a blue bedspread and a dresser, and a lamp by the bed. Walking through the door, she put her backpack on the bed and asked, "Who lives here?" A tactful way of saying, 'do you live here too?'

"Just Chance. Winston and I have other places. But new girl might stick around."

"Who?" she asked, looking up.

"Leila. Tech girl. New." He held the door open. "Oh yeah, Chance's dog, too."

"He has a dog?" She was interested instantly.

"Yep. It's around here somewhere."

She took off, pounding down the stairs to where Chance had plopped down on the sofa to channel surf. "Where's your dog?" she demanded, running a hand through her blond hair.

He scanned the room. "I think he's with Leila. He likes to slobber on her stuff. Go distract him, she'll thank you for it." He pointed to an adjoining room. Cindy shot through it and ended up on her knees by a brown and black dog that was very happy to receive all the petting she wanted to give. A redheaded woman gave a heartfelt sigh of relief and moved the wires of her many computers out of the dog's way.

"She takes after you," Chance told Guerrero, who had come downstairs.

"Dude, I don't like animals."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Chance said, amused.

"I suppose you mean she inherited my kind temperament," the mustached man said sarcastically. He pulled out his iphone and checked his messages.

"Well, there is that," Chance said with a wry twist of his mouth. "But she's like a small version of you."

"That's like really creepy, dude," Guerrero said, not looking up from his phone.

Chance laughed. "Whatever. Forget it."

Cindy watched them surreptitiously from her spot on the floor with the dog; whose tag proclaimed his name was Carmine. One man was obviously muscled, with a blond crew cut, clean shaved, and a tattoo peeked out from underneath the arm of his t-shirt. The other man wore a black undershirt and a brown long sleeved, unbuttoned shirt. He wore glasses, had hair that came down further than his ears, and sported stubble all around his moustache and goatee. Two different people, but obviously good, trusted friends. Cindy knew Chance wasn't like any of Amanda's boyfriends, the ones she was actually interested in and that didn't pay her. He was nice. They weren't. She hated them. She kind of hated Amanda too. So being here wasn't so bad.

She just hoped someone would tell her what was going on.

**Please review! It encourages the author.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: This takes place after the episode called "Baptiste." I don't know if I'm going to stick to the following episodes after it if they contradict my story. But they haven't so far, so that's good! Anyhoo, I got this idea from something Baptiste said, and I just decided to run with it. Hope you enjoy. This is going to be just in longish drabble form. I think. We'll see how it goes.**

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**PS -thanks so much to my lovely reviewers! Sorry about the long wait. School and a research paper. But I'm giving you a bonus chapter! So be happy.  
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Cindy looked up from petting the dog to glance at the redheaded woman. "Are you Leila?"

"Yep, that's me," she said, tapping away at her computer.

"I'm Cindy," she offered.

"Hey," Leila said, flashing her a smile as her eyes squinched up from behind her rectangular glasses.

Cindy liked her smile. "Are you sticking around?"

"As a part of the team? I guess so. I'd hate to have moved all my stuff in just for a job or two." The woman glared at the stack of boxes in the corner.

"Do you stay here all the time?"

"No, I have my own apartment," she said firmly. She liked it there, and she wasn't moving in here. Strangely enough, she could hold her own against Guerrero.

"Oh," Cindy said, nodding. Everyone had their own apartment. Right. "When do we eat?"

"Whenever you want to," Guerrero said from behind her.

Cindy turned around and stepped over the dog. "What do we eat?"

"Whatever you want," Guerrero said again, heading for the kitchen.

She followed, rubbing dog drool off her hands onto her pants. "Y'all eat takeout too much."

"So do you."

"Not really, unless you count Starbucks."

"There isn't food there," Guerrero said, raising his eyebrows over his round glasses.

"Then I don't eat out a lot," Cindy said, shrugging. "I can cook. Does he have any pancake mix?"

"For supper?"

"It's fun," she said, looking in the pantry. "Found it! Now where's the syrup?"

Guerrero shook his head and walked back to the TV, which was showing a basketball game. He didn't really know what Chance meant that they were the same.

"I've been thinking," Chance said as Guerrero plopped into an armchair.

"That's pretty dangerous, dude."

"Ha ha. But seriously. Do you want to stay over here for a day or two, to get her used to being here?"

"She's never had me at any of her other places, dude," Guerrero said, giving him an even stare.

Chance grinned. "Then it'll be a nice change."

Cindy stuck her head in the door. "Can I use these chocolate chips?" She shook the bag.

"Sure," Chance said. "Can I have a pancake when you make 'em?"

" 'Course, dude. I'm making a double batch." She disappeared again.

"See?" Guerrero said. "She can take care of herself."

"But she shouldn't have to," Chance said, not in an accusing way, just informing as a friend.

**Please review! It encourages the author.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: This takes place after the episode called "Baptiste." I don't know if I'm going to stick to the following episodes after it if they contradict my story. But they haven't so far, so that's good! Anyhoo, I got this idea from something Baptiste said, and I just decided to run with it. Hope you enjoy. This is going to be just in longish drabble form. I think. We'll see how it goes.**

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**PS -Here is your extra chapter to make up for the long wait :)  
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Cindy had fallen asleep on the couch next to Guerrero, full of pancakes and tuckered out. He was on his phone, and he let her snuggle against him as he checked his messages. Chance was reluctantly taking Carmine for a walk, and Winston was watching the game on TV. The taller man slowly said, "Hey…can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure, dude." Guerrero kept his eyes on his phone.

"Chance filled me in on what he knows, and I was wondering. Don't get mad," Winston added.

"When do I ever?"

"Don't get me started," Winston muttered. "Anyway…have you ever gotten any kind or blood test or DNA testing done to –"

"Nope," Guerrero cut him off.

"Well…how do you know she's yours?"

"I don't." The tawny-haired man stared levelly at him over the round lenses of his glasses.

Winston furrowed his brow. "Why haven't you?"

"It doesn't matter, dude. Would it be nice?" Guerrero shrugged. "Maybe. Would it change anything? No."

"Why?"

"I'd still take care of her even if she wasn't my kid."

The elevator announced Chance and Carmine's arrival back into the apartment. "It's nearly ten o'clock," Chance said. "What are you two still doing up?"

"My bad." Guerrero put an arm around Cindy and shook her gently. "Wake up kid. Time to go to bed."

She moaned, burrowing into his shirt. "That's an oxymoron, and I don't want to go to school tomorrow!"

"You don't have to," Guerrero told her.

"Whoa, what?" Winston objected. "You get ticketed for truancy. No can do."

Cindy moaned again.

"C'mon kid. Bed," Guerrero said, picking her up and carrying her upstairs.

"Aren't I too big for this?" she mumbled as he deposited her on the bed and pulled the covers over her.

"Age wise?" he shrugged. "Maybe. Size wise? Nope."

" 'S not my fault I'm short," she grumbled, rolling over.

"Nah. It's probably mine." He turned her light out and walked down the stairs to Chance, who was petting Carmine. "Hey dude, I'll take you up on that offer. It's late."

Chance nodded. "You can have the green room by Cindy's."

"Thanks dude."

**Please review! It encourages the author.**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: This takes place after the episode called "Baptiste." I don't know if I'm going to stick to the following episodes after it if they contradict my story. But they haven't so far, so that's good! Anyhoo, I got this idea from something Baptiste said, and I just decided to run with it. Hope you enjoy. This is going to be just in longish drabble form. I think. We'll see how it goes.**

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**PS -it's kinda short, but hey, it's sooner than most of them have been! :) more hopefully coming soon.  
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Someone was poking his arm. Guerrero woke up and opened his eyes to see Cindy staring down at him.

"I have to go to school," she said.

Kids. Why did they have to be so danged on top of things? He put his glasses on and looked at the clock. 7 AM. "Get all the way ready, and I'll try to wake up by then."

She sighed and left.

He groaned and got up.

Cindy hunted up a cereal box and made herself breakfast. She was searching for the milk when Chance walked in the door, hot and sweaty from a run.

"How come you don't take Carmine on your runs?" she asked him, retrieving the milk from the back of the refrigerator.

"Oh, he can't keep up with me," Chance said, wiping his forehead. "Isn't that right, buddy?" The dog panted happily, knowing someone was talking about him and thumped his tail against his bed.

"You need to go to the grocery store," Cindy informed him. She had used almost all the milk.

"Uh huh," he said absentmindedly.

"You're not listening, are you?"

"What?" he asked, blinking.

"Thought so," she muttered, digging into her cereal.

Guerrero appeared in the kitchen, pulling a long-sleeved burgundy shirt over his black t-shirt and jeans. He yawned.

"Morning," Chance remarked with a smile.

"It certainly is," Guerrero said, tucking his shirt in. "Where do you hide your coffee maker, dude?"

"I'll show you," Chance said.

Cindy watched them with squinted eyes. She squinted a lot. Especially when reading. _I think I need glasses._

Please review! It encourages the author.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: This takes place after the episode called "Baptiste." I don't know if I'm going to stick to the following episodes after it if they contradict my story. But they haven't so far, so that's good! Anyhoo, I got this idea from something Baptiste said, and I just decided to run with it. Hope you enjoy. This is going to be just in longish drabble form. I think. We'll see how it goes.**

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**PS -Would you believe me if I said that I had been meaning to post this and forgot? No, I wouldn't believe me either, but it's the truth all the same. Sorry.  
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Guerrero pulled up at the pavement of the middle school, and Cindy hopped out with her backpack. "See you later, kid. Call me when you want to be picked up."

She waved and walked up the walk and sighed. She hated this place. English was her first period, something she had problems with. She wasn't big into nouns and verbs and semicolons.

And her teacher was. Three weeks into school and she was already bellyaching about her. It usually took two months for a teacher to get on her back.

"Hello, Miss Novacek."

"Hello Mrs. Jeffries," Cindy said warily.

"Cindy, didn't you tell me you would have one of your parents call me so I could set up a conference with them?"

Cindy warily set her backpack on her desk near the back and said, "Yes."

"No one called me, Cindy."

"I know."

"Why was that?"

"I didn't tell them."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Cindy…" the teacher said warningly.

Cindy huffed, "Because I don't live with my dad usually and Amanda doesn't care."

"Who is Amanda?"  
"She's the person I live with."

"What about your mother?"  
"She's dead."

"Oh," the teacher said, softening. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" Cindy said. "Being sorry won't change it."

Ms. Jefferies frowned. "Don't get smart with me, young lady."

"How can I get smart with you if you say I'm dumb?" Cindy muttered under her breath.

"Detention," Ms. Jefferies said. Apparently it wasn't so under her breath. "You can serve it here, and give me the number of whoever you want, but I will have a conference with someone about you, young lady."

_I knew today wasn't gonna be good,_ Cindy thought.

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Cindy put her battered sneakers on top of the desk and sighed. Detention had finished fifteen minutes ago, and there was a showdown between her and Ms. Jeffries. She sighed again and shifted her weight. Grading papers, Ms. Jeffries had the look of a woman who would wait at the school all night if necessary until she called.

Cindy let her feet thump to the floor and said, "I'm going to go call on the pay phone."

"I have a cell phone –" her teacher began.

"I don't…want to use it," Cindy said. She walked out of the room to go use the pay phone by the office. Knowing her teacher, she was probably calling down to the office right now to ask Mrs. Finch, the secretary, to make sure she was really using the phone and not walking out the door. Sticking two quarters into the coin slot, she dialed the number for Guerrero's cell and listened to the phone ring.

"What's up?"

"I need you to come get me."

"Okay, will do."

"Somethin' else."

"What?"

Cindy sighed. "My teacher wants to talk to a parent."

"Why? Didja beat somebody up?"

"_No,"_ she said, but smiled a little. "She thinks I have bad grammar. And she's had conferences for everybody else, so she wants one from me."

"Oh, a stickler."

"Yeah, kinda."

"What's her name?"

"Ms. Jeffries."

"Mm. Be there in twenty, kid."

" 'Kay. Bye."

She hung up the phone and walked back to her room.

"Did you call?" Ms. Jeffries asked, looking up from the stack of paper.

"Yeah. He'll be here in twenty minutes." Cindy sat back down at her desk and sighed.

"Your father?" Ms. Jeffries clarified.

"Yeah." _My father._

_

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He walked into the classroom and immediately spotted the sullen look on Cindy's face, as well as the prim one on the schoolteacher's face.

"What's up, kid?" he said.

Cindy rolled her eyes surreptitiously.

"I know the feeling," he said as he turned his keen eyes on the teacher. Everything about this woman was pointed and sharp, from her heels to her eyes. "You must be Ms. Jeffries," he said. "Nice to meetcha." He kept his hand in his pockets.

"Likewise, Mister…"

"Guerrero."

She blinked.

"Cindy's got her mom's name," he said. "What did you want to talk to me about?" He tilted his head to the side.

**Please review! It encourages the author.**

**PPS- who can tell me what the reference in this chapter is? Clue -it has something to do with names.  
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	9. Chapter 9

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**AN: Just FYI, I wasn't planning to write this chapter. I planned to cut to another scene and skip this bit because I wasn't sure it would come out right. But a couple people who reviewed (thanks btw! :D ) asked either for this scene or wondered what would happen, so I figured I'd just write it after all. I'm still not sure it came out that well, mostly because I've never been to a parent-teacher conference, but, yeah. I'll post another chapter soon to make up for this one :)  
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"Cindy, would you like to go out in the hall?" Mrs. Jeffries asked.

From the expression on her face, the answer was clearly 'no', but she and Guerrero both knew that saying it would tick her teacher off even more. Sighing, she got up and left, closing the door behind her.

"Please sit down," Mrs. Jeffries said, motioning to a regular sized chair. Guerrero sat down and leaned back, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, waiting.

"Cindy isn't doing well in English," the sharp woman finally said after straightening the files on her desk. She seemed to want a reaction.

"It's only September," Guerrero said.

She blinked. "Does Cindy read books at home?"

"Select ones," he said, remembering her passion about Narnia. "Why?"

"She's a little behind in her reading and grammar, and in my opinion, they go together." Apparently her opinion was the ultimate authority on this matter.

"Uh huh," he said, thinking. He had never been to one of these before, if Cindy had ever had one. _He _had, as a kid, but the kids were never allowed into the room. But he was never one to be insecure and let the new sich. rule him. * He just responded with his usual cockiness, and if he blundered, hey, at least the blunder would make a funny story to tell Cindy.

But the teacher was moving along. He supposed he had better pay attention.

"No child uses perfect grammar, of course," she said authoritatively, "but even if they don't use perfect grammar, I expect them to be able to tell me the correct way to use punctuation and the right word instead of slang."

She paused. Again. Like she was letting a break in case he wanted to say something. Guerrero raised his eyebrows and made a little motion with his hands, as if to say, 'okay, where are you going with this?'

Her lips came together and compressed in a decidedly unfriendly expression. "My point _is, _Cindy cannot."

"Okay," Guerrero said, shrugging. "Anything else?"

Her mouth opened a bit, as if she couldn't believe this. "Are you going to do anything about this?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that your job?"

Okay, _now _she was ticked off. "Do you mean to insinuate," she said, incensed, "that I am not doing –"

"No," he said, exasperated. "I'm saying you haven't had any time to do it yet. It's September, dude. If she hasn't made any improvement by March, give me a call and I'll do somethin' about it. Now, anything else? You're gonna catch a fly if you aren't careful," he added with a pointed look.

Her mouth snapped shut. "Cindy does not have any friends."

"How do you know?" Guerrero countered, shifting in the chair.

"She eats by herself. When the class is asked to get into groups, she always ends up in the group that is short a person. She doesn't talk to others in class. Normally, I would be glad of this…"

_But because it's Cindy, you aren't, _Guerrero thought.

"…but I believe, coupled with the other evidence, she does not have peers here at school. Does she have friends at home?" the teacher asked, adjusting her glasses.

_That's a very subtle way to hint that her home is responsible for all this,_ Guerrero thought. "A few," he said. He actually had no idea. And he wondered.

"Oh," Mrs. Jeffries said.

"Are we done here?"

"Yes, I believe –"

"Good. Glad ta meecha," he said, getting up. "Great talkin' to ya. See ya." He walked to the door and opened it to see Cindy sitting on a chair outside the door. "Ready to go?"

"_Yeah,"_ she said, grabbing her backpack.

"Goodbye," the teacher said, coming up behind them.

"Bye," Cindy said, and walked off like she was in a speed walking competition.

"Later, dude," Guerrero said, and followed.

* * *

* -I abbreviated "situation." hope that makes sense!

**Please review! It encourages the author.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

**Arien: Do you mean how the name references relate to the story? Short answer: not at all, really, just random trivia thrown in. Long answer: Jeffries is the name of the child services person in August Rush that means well but...I guess isn't all that helpful; the teacher seemed sort of like that. Novacek ...yeah, I just like the name. They don't really relate, I just like to do that. :) Thanks for you review.**

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**AN: I went back an fixed something in the last chapter that IcyWaters helpfully pointed out. So if you were confused, you might want to go back and read it again.**

Chance looked up from his book about missile defense systems to see Guerrero and Cindy walk in the door, both with equally black looks on their faces.

"So how was school today?" Chance asked.

He received a very irritated look from Cindy, who immediately retreated into the room where Leila had set up shop.

Chance raised his eyebrows at Guerrero. "Not good, huh?"

"Dude," Guerrero said as he collapsed onto the couch, "that woman's a gorgon."

"Really?" Chance said. "Doesn't like Cindy?"

"Dude, I'm pretty sure that woman doesn't like _anybody."_ Guerrero gave a wry look at the door.

"So, did she just talk about school stuff?" Chance asked, trying to figure out what was going on in his friend's head.

"Grammar. English. Social interaction. Basically she thinks Cindy's screwed for life, and it must have something to do with her home life since it _obviously _isn't the school system." Guerrero twitched his mustache. "Dude, how did that woman get her teaching degree?"

Chance shrugged. "What does Cindy have to say about this?"

"She doesn't like school. Y'know, dude, kids would turn out a lot better if the government didn't force standardized education on 'em."

"I certainly never had any," Chance said with a grin.

Guerrero raised an eyebrow. "On the other hand…"

Chance laughed, his blue eyes twinkling.

* * *

Cindy was petting Carmine. He panted happily at the attention, thumping his tail on the floor when she scratched behind his ears and rubbed his back. It was enough to bring a half-grin to her face, but not enough for the thoughts to go away. Leila was there, typing away on her computer and listening to music with one earphone in. Gradually, the redhead realized that the girl was staring at her, and pulled her eyes away from the computer.

"Hey Cindy."

"What're you doing?" the blond girl asked curiously.

"I'm tracking a money trail for Winston," Leila said, adjusting her glasses on her nose. "Why?"

Cindy stared at Carmine, rubbing his ears absently. When she finally spoke, it was a whisper. "Why do grown-ups make things so hard?"

Leila looked at her askance and blinked a couple of times. "I don't know."

"I mean you try so hard with what you've got and they expect so much more of you that you can't give and then they blame you because stuff happens that you had no control over and it's not your fault, but…" Cindy took a deep breath, "it's just so _hard."_

"Is this about that meeting?" Leila asked.

"Kinda, yeah. Ms. Jeffries hates me because I'm not perfect and she thinks I'm gonna bring her test scores down because I have a hard time remembering where to put the semi-colons, and use the wrong tenses, and forget to capitalize proper names sometimes. But that's because I have to remember what to do when the kitchen sink stops up and Amanda won't be home until 2 AM, and how to steer clear of her boyfriends. I gotta remember which streets to avoid when I go home because the gang members will kick me off their turf, and I gotta to remember not to tell my dad about how mean Amanda is. I remember all the important stuff. Semi-colons aren't important." Cindy gave Carmine a hug, breathing in his doggy scent and listening to his heart.

Leila pressed her lips together in silence. She didn't really know what to say, but she had to say something that would help this girl, who obviously had very few positive influences in her life. "Grown-ups aren't perfect, as much as we'd like to be."

"I know."

"I'm not really great with the motivational pick-me-up thing," Leila said with a sad laugh.

"I know."

"But you deserve better. You're right; it's not your fault. You have dealt with life a whole lot better than most people. You shouldn't've had to." Leila twiddled her thumbs, not really sure what else to say.

"Thanks," Cindy said with a small smile.

Leila's eyes strayed to a folder on her desk. "Hey, guess what?"

"What?"

"Oh, come on. Sound a little more excited."

"_What_?" Cindy said with a faux display of enthusiasm. Carmine jumped at the sound of her voice, and then went back to thumping his tail.

"I know Winston's first name. Guess what it is." Leila's eyes sparkled behind her glasses.

"Uhh…" Cindy rolled her eyes. "Samuel."

"Nope."

"Harry."

"Nuh uh."

"Franklin."

"Nada."

Cindy sighed. "Bill."

"You aren't even trying!" Leila said.

"So tell me already."

"Drum roll please."

Cindy patted out a drum roll on Carmine.

"….Laverne."

Cindy raised her eyebrows. "Are you serious?"

"Yep." Leila smiled at the look of hilarity on the blond girl's freckled face.

"That's so awesome!" Cindy exclaimed, rolling on the floor giggling with Carmine, who woofed agreement. Leaning on her hand and propping her elbow against the desk, Leila ran her free hand through her hair and watched the girl and the dog, both innocently happy.

_This must be what joy looks like,_ she thought.

**Please review! It encourages the author.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

**Amariel: yes, that is true that Carmine has no tail. But I think it's very sad that he doesn't, so I guess I just gave him one. Ta da! Thanks so much for your review! :)  
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**AN: Life sped up again. Isn't it not supposed to do that in the summer? Anyhoo. Here ya go! :)**

Leila had gone home to feed her fish and make sure no one had burgled her apartment. Winston had brought Long John Silver takeout for supper, and Chance, Winston, Guerrero, and Cindy all were eating in front of the TV as Carmine looked hopefully between Chance and Cindy.

Cindy kept her eyes studiously on the television screen. She feared if she looked over at Winston, she'd bust out laughing. He just didn't look like someone who could be named Laverne! Just thinking about it made her start to smile, so she slipped Carmine some of her French fries.

"If you do that, he'll peg you as an easy mark for the rest of your life," Chance warned with a smile.

"Oh, that's okay," Cindy said as the dog gobbled down the fries. "I can fend him off." She rubbed Carmine's black and brown head. "Where'd you get him?"

Chance was silent for a while; the hum of the TV was the only sound. "A friend left him to me," he said.

"Was he a puppy or a grown dog?"

"A puppy," Chance said, smiling at the memory of a tiny Carmine.

"Did their dog have puppies and they gave one to you?"

"No, actually, his owner died, and I sort of adopted him."

"Oh," Cindy said quietly. "I'm sorry."  
"It's okay." Chance smiled. "It was a long time ago."

"Hey kid, come over here," Guerrero said, motioning at Cindy to come sit by him on the couch. Cindy gave Carmine one last pat and obediently climbed up on the couch.

Barnes. Guerrero put an arm around her and murmured in her ear, "Cindy, you're gettin' close to kind of sore subject with him. I'll tell you 'bout it later, 'kay?"

" 'Kay," Cindy said agreeably. "But can I know why I'm here?"

Guerrero thought about it, tilting his head to the side. "That… kinda has somethin' to do with the sore subject."

"So later?"

"Yeah, later."

"Okay." Cindy snuggled up against his shoulder and took a nap.

But later rolled around, and she forgot to ask.

* * *

Day three was fine. So was day four and five.

Day six ….not so much.

"Yo," he said as he answered the phone.

"Mr. Guerrero?"

"Yep," he said, knowing it wasn't anyone that knew him or they wouldn't call him "mister."

"This is Dean Groves, from Bush Middle School. It's about Cindy."

Guerrero was instantly on the alert. Had Baptiste made a move? He knew he should have taken her out of school! "What happened?" he demanded.

"Cindy got into a fight at school. She's in the office right now. We'd like you to come down here."

Was that all? He had been worried for a second there. "Be there in a few, dude." He hung up.

* * *

Guerrero walked into the school office with his shirttails un-tucked and hands in his pockets. He could spot Cindy immediately; with the ice pressed to a rapidly blackening eye and a Kleenex stuffed up her nose, she was hard to miss. "Hey kid."

She blinked her undamaged eye and sighed.

"So whatdidja do?"

"Got in a fight." Her voice was muffled because of the bloody Kleenex up her nose.

"Uh huh, I can see that," Guerrero said, lifting one side of his mouth. "Why?"

"Mr. Guerrero?"

Guerrero turned to see a balding man in a suit holding out his hand. His stocky appearance and large jowls gave him the appearance of a bulldog. Guerrero looked first at his hand and then at the man's face, not shaking. "That's me."

Slowly lowering his hand, the man said, "I'm Anthony Groves, the dean of students. Why don't you and Cindy come into my office." It wasn't a question.

Guerrero raised an eyebrow and followed, with Cindy coming along behind.

"Have a seat," the dean said, motioning to a set of chairs behind an imposing desk.

Cindy sat. Guerrero remained standing. "I'm good, thanks."

"Are you sure?"

Shifting his stance, Guerrero said, "Sitting behind that big imposing desk and putting us in these chairs makes you feel big and powerful and us feel tiny and insignificant. It's all psychological. So yeah, I'm sure."

The dean blinked. "Uh…"

"Yeah. I have that effect on people," Guerrero said, shrugging.

The dean regained his tongue. "I called you down here, Mr. Guerrero, because your daughter got into a fight with a boy during gym."  
"Where's the other kid?" Guerrero asked.

"I have already spoken with him and his parents; he has been suspended for Monday and Tuesday of next week. We take fighting very seriously here –"

"Uh huh. So what happened?"

The Dean blinked in surprise. It looked like he lost his train of thought.

"I like to cut to the chase," Guerrero said. "Who started it?"

"He did," Cindy said.

"Cindy, I have it from two teachers and your whole gym class that you punched Daniel first," the Dean said. "Do you deny it?"

"No, but he started it," she said, and proceeded to pull the bloody Kleenex from her nose and inspect it.

"How?" the dean asked before the color started draining from his face.

"Didn't he tell you?" Cindy said bitterly. "Since he's obviously the wounded party here." She sniffed.

"I –I'd like to hear –your side of the story." The bulldog man was turning very pale.

"You aren't really a blood person, are ya buddy?" Guerrero said reflectively. "So what'd he say kid?"

Cindy stared at the floor with her one good eye. "He insulted me. I told him to take it back. He wouldn't. So I hit him. And it went on from there."

"Okay," the Dean said, coughing. "Since it's Friday, Cindy, I'm suspending you from school on Monday and Tuesday."

"Can we go?" Guerrero said bluntly.

"Yes." His expression said, _please do._

"C'mon kid." Guerrero motioned to Cindy, and she got up slowly. "Did you break it?"

"No. But it sure feels like it."

"I know what you mean," Guerrero said, thinking about all the broken noses he'd had in his life.

Please review! It encourages the author.


	12. Chapter 12

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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**AN: Sheesh. Summer. You love it, but it goes so much faster than the school year. :P anyhow. Thanks for reminding me I have to post again :)**

Guerrero pulled away from the curb and glanced at Cindy. She was staring out the window at the houses passing by. "You wanna tell me what the fight was really about?"

"I told you," she muttered, "in the office."

"Hey, I can smell lies, and that was a whopper. Spill."

Cindy sighed deeply. Then she sighed again. "He was saying insulting things," she said in almost a whisper. " 'Bout my mom. So I hit him."

"Aha." Guerrero frowned. It took a lot to shake Cindy's cool. She was the sort of person who would ignore the antagonist or say something sarcastic to make them look stupid. "You sure that that's all that was wrong?"

"I…kind of blew up because of a lot of other things too…"

"Like what?" Guerrero asked as he turned into the Tenderloin.

"Like how my teacher doesn't like me because I'm not smart. And… yeah."

"Kid, you're as smart as paint."

"What does that mean?" Cindy asked with a quizzical glance.

"Long John Silver tells it to Jim Hawkins."

Cindy frowned. "Like the restaurant?"

"No. Haven't you ever read _Treasure Island_?" Guerrero said as he pulled up to a stoplight.

"No. Books are kind of boring."

"You like the Narnia ones."

"Yeah." She smiled happily. "I love those. But they're an exception."

"How do ya know if you don't try any of 'em? _Treasure Island_ is a classic." Cindy remained unconvinced. "It's about pirates."

"Well…."

"We'll stop at Barnes and Noble and get some books for you," Guerrero said, flipping on his turn signal. "You have to do somethin' during those days you're suspended." And maybe he'd be proactive for once in his life and do something about what her teacher had said. Just because he didn't like the source didn't mean the things she said weren't true.

"You aren't mad about that?" Cindy asked, surprised.

"About the suspension? No. Why would I be?" Guerrero asked, surprised.

She shrugged. "It's not really a good thing."

"The way I see it, there's a whole lot worse things you could have done."

Cindy smiled ruefully. "Like killing him?"

Guerrero tilted his head and grinned. "There is that, yeah."

* * *

Cindy walked in the door of Chance's pad with a sack full of books and a bag of mostly melted ice pressed to her eye. Guerrero followed behind her swinging his car keys.

Chance raised an eyebrow. "I'd hate to see the other guy."  
Cindy grinned. "Oh, he's much worse."

"Who taught you how to fight?" Chance asked as Carmine galloped in from the kitchen to jump all over Cindy.

She fought off Carmine's advance, saying. "No, buddy, don't slobber all over my new books. That's gross. Yes I love you too." She glanced over at Chance. "Amanda dated an undercover cop for a while. He was nice, probably the nicest of all of 'em. He taught me some stuff."

"That's cool," Chance said. "Whatcha got there?"

"Haven't you ever seen a book, dude?" Guerrero said.

Chance ignored him.

Cindy pulled out her stash of books one at a time. "There's _Treasure Island,_ _Swiss Family Robinson, Kidnapped, Robin Hood, The Sword in the Stone, The Call of the Wild, Black Beauty, _and _A Study in Scarlet. _I'm going to read _Treasure Island _first."

" 'Fifteen men on a dead man's chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum'," Chance sang. "Good choice."  
"Thanks," Cindy said. She ran up the stairs to put the books in her room.

"What brought on this sudden influx of reading?" Chance asked Guerrero curiously.

"She's suspended because she got into a fight at school."

"I could tell," Chance said.

"It's a lot of stuff besides that. Thinks she's not smart. You can learn a lot from books, dude. So it's building up her self esteem."

Chance thought about this. "Okay. Hey, Winston's lined up a guy named Eddie Dunn. He's in trouble."

Guerrero raised his eyebrows behind his glasses. "How much?"

"One point eight million much."

"Sounds slightly complicated."

"A bit. You in?"

"Sure, dude."

**Please review! It encourages the author.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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**AN: And... here's another chapter! I've decided to write through Corner Man, since I like it :) You have no idea how many times i had to watch it to get all the lines down. I'll try not to seem like I'm just writing the episode down with bits of Cindy here and there. Anyway, here you go! :)  
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13

Eddie Dunn arrived the next day, a big prizefighter that wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer but had a really sweet disposition. Cindy looked up from page 54 of _Treasure Island_ to say "Hello," and then stuck her nose back in the book.

Winston, Chance, and Guerrero were talking strategy in Leila's tech room, since she wasn't there to fuss.

Winston was saying, "You know, we can't just take out Hugh Prentice. That guy is loaded with money and connections. Plus it's illegal."

"Wow, dude. Illegal is the last thing on your list. I'm impressed," Guerrero said sarcastically.

Winston glared.

Chance ignored them. "So we find a way to take his money," he shrugged.

"How?" Winston demanded.

"Every guy has a weak spot."

"How do you know?" Winston asked.

"Actually," Guerrero said, holding up a pen. "He's right."

Both Winston and Chance looked at him quizzically.

Guerrero grabbed his laptop and began tapping something in. His hand motions became animated as he said, "Hugh Prentice bets on prizefighters. So we get him to bet it all." Before any objections could come across, he said, "There's a big tournament in Brussels. Don't remember what's it called, but Hugh Prentice goes."

"How do you know that?" Winston said suspiciously.

Guerrero rolled his eyes. _Sheesh, you'd think that was all he knows how to say._ "I know a guy who referees the matches."

Chance said, "Sounds like a plan. Guerrero, dig up whatever you can find on Hugh. Winston, look into the Brussels thing."

"What about you?" Winston asked.

"I'm going to take a nap," Chance said as he smiled.

* * *

Six hours later, they had a plan. Cindy could tell because Chance was smiling and ignoring everything Winston said. She had noticed he did that when he knew everything was under control. If something were wrong he would be very focused and on top of things.

She was done with _Treasure Island,_ was now referring to her room as her 'cabin', asking for a parrot, and had completely reversed her opinion about books. She had moved on to _Kidnapped_ because it was also by Robert Louis Stevenson. It was a little hard to understand, but it was good.

Winston and Chance were grabbing jackets and arguing still. "Remind me why we have to get the money from _this _guy," Winston grumbled.

"He hates Hugh Prentice," Chance said.

"But he wants to _kill_ you, and you're a lot closer than Prentice."

"That's why you're along," Chance said with a flash of brilliance. "Ladies and gentlemen, the voice of reason."

Cindy began to clap helpfully from her spot on the couch. Rolling his eyes, Winston gave up and they left.

Cindy dog-eared her book and wandered into the stockade, where Guerrero was doing something clever with wires. "What're you doing?" she asked curiously.

"Setting up the wire tap," Guerrero said as something came to life on the computer screen.

"Can I help?"

He peered over his glasses and said, "Can you reach back behind the desks and plug this in?" he asked, holding up a cord.

"Sure," Cindy said, taking it and scooting under the desks. "Where?"

"Just in the outlet."

Cindy could see why he asked; with the desks shoved up close to the wall, the space was very small. An adult sized hand couldn't fit. Hers could, with a bit of elbow grease. She coaxed the plug into the outlet and felt very gratified when a piece of equipment hummed to life. However, a certain dog blocked her exit from under the desks. "Carmine, let me out." He didn't. Cindy sighed and petted him as Eddie walked in. "Hi Eddy," she said.

He jumped. "Whoa, where'd that come from?"

"Under the desk," Guerrero said, with a 'duh' inflection to his voice.

"The dog talks?" Eddie asked.

Cindy was able to crane her neck around Carmine and see Guerrero roll his eyes. She laughed, "No. It's me, Cindy! Carmine won't let me out."

"Ohhh." Eddie said. He helped move Carmine's bulk out of the way and offered her his hand.

"Thank you," she said politely. Eddie may not be the smartest guy on the block, but he was nice.

Guerrero held out headphones to Eddie and put a pair on himself. "Everything's set up, dude."

"Can I have a pair?" Cindy asked.

Guerrero considered it. "Okay kid," he finally said, plugging in another pair of headphones into a headphone jack.

**Please review! It encourages the author.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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**AN: Sorry I was gone! I went to LIFE 2010, which is an awesome youth conference! It was in Kentucky this year. you can probably google or youtube it. It was THE MOST AMAZING THING EVER! the theme was Co[]ide. We were colliding with God all over the place. It was TOTALLY AWESOME! I'm so glad I went. SO worth it. Speakers were Francis Chan, Derwin Gray, and James Grout, not to mention all the totally super smaller session speakers. Saw Hawk Nelson and Kutless, learned more about missionaries and things overseas...just AWESOME! XD **

**And because of this, I realize that when people compliment me on my writing skills, what i'm now going to say is, 'They aren't mine. God gave them to me. All the praise and glory goes to Him.' **

**But anyways. Here's a long chap for you to make up for the wait! :D**

14

Cindy settled the pair of headphones over her ears and rubbed Carmine's ears. "It's not a two way thing, is it?" she asked.

"Nope," Guerrero said, settling down in his chair to listen. Eddie put his own headphones on and sat down too. "They can't hear us."

For a while, all _she_ could hear was Winston and Chance tossing insults back and forth, which was entertaining, but not all that enlightening. Cindy ignored their banter until she heard Winston say sarcastically, "And on that note, take it away."

A voice that sounded like Chance said, "I …need 1.8 million dollars in the next week. In cash."

A foreign voice said, "Get the steamer trunk and my .45 and bring them up here," to someone else. Cindy's eyebrow shot up.

Chance was talking again. "Whoa, whoa, just a loan, you'll get every cent back. And in the process you'll get to stick it to the _one_ guy in the world you hate worse than me –Hugh Prentice."

"Hugh Prentice?"

Cindy heard a scraping sound, and something clicked. "Which one?" another strange voice asked. The click was a gun cocking, Cindy realized. _Uh oh._

"Just hang on a second. Keep talking," the foreign guy said.

"I've got a client. He's a prizefighter. His name's Eddie Dunn. Prentice told him to take a dive, Eddie wouldn't do it, and Prentice lost a fortune -1.8 million to be exact," Chance said pointedly.

The other voice remarked dryly, "Your client doesn't sound too smart."

"I'll …be honest with you. He's not the brightest bulb in the box."

"Is he saying I'm dumb?" Eddie asked. Cindy looked up.

"Course not," Guerrero said, eyes on his laptop.

"I'm not dumb," Eddie said adamantly. Carmine panted his approval.

"Your headphones are on backwards," Guerrero remarked, eyes never leaving the screen. Eddie took them off and inspected them while Cindy hid a smile.

Chance was talking again. "But Eddie's a good kid. Prentice wouldn't even give him a chance to make it square, just sent guys with guns to his house. Eddie fought his way out, but he's been on the run ever since."

"What exactly do you think you're going to do about that?"

"Prentice has got deep pockets," Chance said, a shrug hidden in his voice. "He'll find a way to get to Eddie sooner or later, but I've got a plan to make sure Prentice won't be able to get to my client or anyone ever again."

"I'm still listening."

"The Christophe Fight tournament in Brussels. Eight fighters. Best in the world. Famous for the sums of money wagered in its betting rooms. Fortunes won and lost in a night. I'm gonna get Prentice to make the wrong bet on the wrong fighter. And he's gonna get wiped out." Chance's voice was satisfied.

The other voice was incredulous. "You're gonna get Hugh Prentice, the shrewdest gambler alive, to bet everything he owns against you, and lose?"

"Everything he owns. Every last dime," Chance said confidently.

"And may I ask who this fighter is?" the voice asked sardonically.

"Me," Chance said.

* * *

(The Next Night)

Cindy came down the stairs, halfway through _Black Beauty._ "Where is everybody?" she asked Guerrero.

"They're out implementing step one," Guerrero said in a distant voice as he studied his computer screen.  
"What's step one?" she said.

"Knocking out Kendrick Taylor," he said before he reached for a stack of photographs.

"Who?" Cindy asked.

He looked up. "Exactly."

Carmine padded up to her, holding his tennis ball in her mouth. Cindy went to sit on the steps like Chance did sometimes, and threw the ball to him. He bounded after it, tail wagging happily. The sight brought something else to mind.

"Hey, remember when you said you were gonna tell me about that touchy subject?" Cindy called into the stockade.

"Yeah," Guerrero said.

"Well, do you remember that you never did?"

"Yep."

"Can …we talk about it now?" Cindy asked, pushing her dishwater blond hair behind her ears as Carmine retrieved the ball and handed it to her, slightly coated with dog spit.

* * *

"Okay." Guerrero grabbed his coffee cup and walked out to sit on the stairs beside Cindy. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Why is Carmine a sore subject?" she asked, leaning against him as the dog came back wagging his tail.

Guerrero reached out to give the dog a pat, a rare thing. "I remember when he was a puppy."

"When was that?" she asked.

"Six years ago." Guerrero was silent for a while, staring at the dog. "You would have been about five then," he said suddenly, glancing at her. They shared the same sort of coloring –tawny skin and hair; everything else was her mother. No matter what Winston and Chance said, he didn't see a resemblance between them.

"Sooo…" Cindy hinted. "Sore subject?"

"Right." Guerrero pulled his mind back. "It doesn't really start with Carmine. We were different people back then. Chance and me." Cindy looked up at him with hesitant eyes. "I didn't come around much back then, did I?" he said reflectively.

"Not a whole lot," Cindy acknowledged in a small voice. "But you still came."

"Yeah." He sighed and laid a hand on her hair. "Long and short of it was, Chance was an assassin. I was, too."

Cindy's expression didn't change. "I know," she said.

"You do?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mom always was hinting at it," she said.

"She was always smarter than I gave her credit for," he mumbled. "You, too." He ruffled Cindy's hair. She cracked a smile. "Anyway. Chance was sent to kill a girl named Katherine Walters, but he didn't know why. And once he met her, he figured out she hadn't done anything wrong and wanted to keep her safe. And the gig was getting old, even then."

"Why?" Cindy asked. Guerrero cocked an eyebrow. "Why'd he want to keep her safe?" she elaborated.

"He liked her," Guerrero said with a smirk, and then sobered. "He said somethin' to me once. 'No one deserves to die.' "

"Is that true?" Cindy asked. She had stopped throwing the ball for Carmine a long time ago, and right now he was panting on her shoes.

"He must think so. He didn't kill me." Guerrero watched her eyes widen in shock as she scooted closer to him.  
"He was going to _kill_ you?" she said in a whisper.

He remembered flying into the table and crashing to the floor, being faced with the muzzle of a gun. He had expected to die. Junior, as he had been called then, had him dead to rights. He was surprised to receive mercy. He took a breath. "The boss called me, told me to take care of things, since Chance had skipped town with Katherine. I found him; we fought. And he didn't take the shot when he could've."

"What'd he do?" Cindy asked.

"Knocked me out. But it got me thinkin', though. Chance had something he cared about, somebody he was protecting. What did I have?"

"You have me," Cindy whispered.

He stared through his glasses at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Yeah," he said, impulsively giving her a hug.

She wrapped her short arms around him and didn't let go. "What happened to Katherine, then?" she mumbled.

"She died," Guerrero said, rubbing Cindy's hair. "Carmine was Katherine's puppy. And that's why we don't talk about it." He made a move as if to get up.

"What about why I'm here?"

He froze for a second, but then recovered. "Only one dirty secret per night, kid."

"But soon? You'll tell me soon?" she said, standing also. Her face was unsure, maybe even a little afraid.  
"Yeah. Soon," Guerrero said comfortingly. "You need to go to bed, kiddo." He watched as she and Carmine walked back up the stairs before returning to the tech room. He didn't pick up the pile of photographs again, though. Sipping his coffee, he wondered just when all of them had reached the conclusion that the best thing and the worst thing about life was caring about someone more than yourself.


	15. Chapter 15

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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AN: thanks so much for all the reviews and alerts and favorites! you guys rock! Unfortunately, I'll be going on another trip again Monday. :P I hope to be back by Saturday or Sunday. sorry.

15

_The next day_

"What's all this?" Eddie said in a kind of fascinated sort of voice, staring at the tech room and its pile of papers.

"This is step two of four. Counter intelligence," Winston said.

"Ohhh, yeah. …I don't know what that means," Eddie said in a hushed voice.

"Spying, genius," Guerrero said sarcastically, giving him a doubtful glance.

Winston explained, "Look, we have to get Chance to the finals. It's the only time Prentice can bet everything. Now, getting Chance there means we have to learn everything we can about his opponents."

"Things they don't want us to know," Guerrero said, putting it in laymen's terms for Eddie. "Weaknesses. Chinks in their armor. That sort of thing."

"Now you're going to have to help us out with that Eddie. Think you can do it?" Winston asked in a kind voice.

"You really think Chance can win this thing?" Eddie asked, in a wary tone of voice.

"There's no one I'd rather have in my corner," Winston said reassuringly.

Cindy heard all of this from around the corner in the kitchen where she was eating lunch. She never really got what exactly Chance did. She knew what he _used_ to do, but all she knew now was that… he saved people. People who were scared like Eddie.

It was a good thing to do.

* * *

Cindy was just about to tell someone that she didn't care if it was a tense time, _she was hungry,_ so either get some food or go to the grocery store, when Chance walked into the room, looking smug.

"I just got a call. Pack a bag. We're going to Brussels."

She figured she could wait a little longer for the food.

* * *

Winston's voice came through the computer. "It looks like our first fighter is a guy named Emil Laden."

Guerrero leaned forward and typed something into the computer. "We're on it. Every guy's got a weakness; we'll find Emil's."

Winston said, "Yeah. Listen, just as a reminder –"

"I don't need a reminder," Guerrero cut him off quickly.

"Yeah, just as a reminder," Winston said pointedly, "make sure you talk to Frank."

"I called Frank."

"Did you _talk_ to him?"

"I left _word_," Guerrero said, exasperated.

"Left word isn't gonna cut it. Heck, I can leave word, you _know_ the guy! You have to make sure Frank's on board, otherwise –"

Guerrero ended the connection, and there was blessed silence.

"Who's Frank?" Eddie asked.  
"Frank is step three," Guerrero said, adjusting his glasses.

Cindy walked into the room reading _Robin Hood_. Guerrero glanced at her, and then did a double take. The book was about four inches from her nose. He pushed his chair away from the desk, got up, and walked over to her. Grabbing hold of her book, he pulled it away from her face.

She blinked, looked up, and frowned. "Hey!"

"Why is the book so close to your nose?" Guerrero said.

" 'Cause I can't see it far away," she said in a slightly irritated tone.

He frowned. "You need glasses."

"Yeah, I know that," she said while trying to pull the book away from him.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Guerrero demanded.

She looked down at the floor and scraped her shoe around on the floor. "I don't know."

"We'll get you some glasses after this job, okay?" Guerrero said, exasperated. Cindy nodded. He went to go sit back down.

She was just in the habit of not telling adults her problems. Amanda didn't care. Guerrero wasn't always there. It was just easier to deal with it her self. But… something inside her felt a little lighter now that he knew. The burden was gone. _But there's still a whole lot more burdens in there, _she reminded herself.

* * *

Eddie stared at them both. No one had told him why Cindy was there, or who she was related to, or anything. But it was pretty obvious to him. She and Guerrero had looked almost identical when they were frowning.

* * *

"Okay," Guerrero said, leaning over his keyboard, tapping in something. "We are officially in the camera system, dude." With that said, security camera footage popped up on his large flat-screen monitor.

"Wow," Eddie said, staring. "That's pretty cool."

"Yeah, it is," Guerrero said. "You there, Winston?"

"Yeah," Winston's voice came in.

"I'm going to initiate the webcam. Stand by." Guerrero sat down in his chair and tapped in his password and opened up the application. After a minute, Winston's frowning face appeared on the screen. "Hey dude."

"Did you investigate the opponents?" Winston demanded.

Guerrero rolled his eyes. "Yes, and I washed the dishes and dusted all the picture frames, too."

"Actually I did the dishes," Cindy said, walking in the room. "And fed Carmine. Can I have some of the leftover pizza?"

"And another thing," Winston said acidly, "Are you going to poison her with that stuff in Chance's refrigerator?"

"I'm not dead yet," she said, sticking her face in the camera, "So don't worry. Hi Chance," she said, seeing the muscled man with the crew cut come up behind the bald black man.

"Hey Cindy," he said. "What's up?"

"Just helping out."

Chance smiled. "Awesome. Let us talk to Guerrero and Eddie now, huh?"

" 'Kay," she said. "Bye." She left the room to go find where she had left _Robin Hood,_ now halfway through.

"I still don't think it's right," Winston grumbled. "That kid is either going to starve or die eating whatever's in your refrigerator, Chance."

"Hey," Guerrero said, putting his feet up on the desk. "She can cook. Besides, she's related to me."

"Oh yeah, right," Winston grumbled. "The human garbage disposal."

"I'm not too concerned about Cindy starving as you and Eddie," Chance said, leaning against the bedpost in the hotel room. "How are you two bearing up?"

"I know how to work your coffee maker, dude. And you have the Chinese place down the street on speed dial," Guerrero said confidently.

Winston turned around and gave Chance a look. "Now I know why you insist on going to the gym so often."

Chance shrugged and one side of his mouth smiled. "Carmine likes Chinese."

"Uh huh, right. Okay, could we please talk about your next fighter?" Winston asked without much hope.

"Right, right. Guerrero?" Chance asked.

"Alright, here's what we've got on Emil Laden. We managed to dig up his army psychiatric records. The guy's got serious anger management issues. Provoke him –he'll make mistakes." Guerrero shrugged.

"What about you, Eddie? Got any suggestions?" Winston asked.

"Try to lead with your off hand, that ought to piss him off," Eddie suggested.

"Just slap him," Guerrero said assertively.

"Slap him?" Chance asked. "What do you mean, 'slap him'?"

Guerrero went on brashly, "Open handed. In the face."

Eddie stared at him, confused. "What are you talking about? Why would you want to slap –" Guerrero reached out and his palm connected with Eddie's cheek. The red haired man winced and glared. "What the heck's the matter with you?" he demanded.

"Why? Are you angry?" Guerrero asked innocently.  
Eddie exclaimed, "Yeah I'm angry, you just… Ohhh!" His eyes opened wide, realizing the point.

"Yeah," Guerrero said. "Okay, once he's flustered, go for his weak spot. He's got a pin in his wrist, from a shattered ulna about a year ago. And a blast may have broke his 3rd and 4th ribs so, uh…"

Winston put in, "One good shot to his ribs would knock the wind right out of him, and then you could just finish him off."

"Yeah. That's basically it."

Chance nodded, thinking. "Thanks Guerrero. We'll talk soon."

"Bye, dude," Guerrero said, and severed the connection.


	16. Chapter 16

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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**AN: I am STILL on vacation. but i have wifi. have some updates :) and jfyi, I don't write action scenes well. so please be kind.**

Guerrero observed the fight dispassionately, sipping his fourth cup of coffee. "Looks like Emil's good and angry."

"Yeah, so far so good." Winston's tone clearly said, _don't count your chickens before they hatch._

"Uh oh."

Winston's tone put Guerrero on the alert. He leaned forward. "What is 'uh oh'?"

Winston said in an angry, worried tone, "Somethin's not right with him; I saw the same thing in the alley with Kendrick. It's not like him; he's looking slow, not attacking!" Frustration flowed through his voice.

Guerrero stared at Chance on the screen, backing away from the other fighter and looking disoriented. Emil got in some good jabs, and then slammed his hand onto Chance's head, making the other man hit the mat. He made no move to get up.

"I'm calling this fight; we're going to need the ring doctor," Winston said angrily, panic edging his tone.

"Hang on a second." Guerrero said, thinking hard as he scratched his stubbly chin. Winston was freaking out again. He did that a lot. Guerrero knew it was because the guy cared. Worrying was the only way the guy could show it, but it was just annoying sometimes. Leaning back, Guerrero studied Chance's prone form on the floor.

"There is no hangin' on!" Winston yelled. "I'm lookin' right at him and I just heard somethin' pop! I hope it's not his spine!"

"It wasn't. I think we just won the fight," Guerrero said, explaining. "The pop you heard was Emil's wrist."

Eddie stared at him in confusion. "How do you know what a broken wrist sounds like?"

Guerrero glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "Practice. Look dude," he said, speaking to Winston, "the top of the skull is the hardest part on the body. Chance leaned into that punch on purpose and, I bet it, uh, broke Emil's bad hand there."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Winston insisted. "I'm lookin' right at him and he seems fine."

Guerrero studied Emil hopping on the balls of his feet on the screen. "He's in pain, dude; he's just not going to show it. If I'm right, Emil's done; he can't defend himself at all."

"And if you're wrong?" Winston hissed.

Guerrero shrugged, even though he knew Winston couldn't see him. "I guess we'll just have to see, dude."

And they did see, since Chance chose that moment to get up off the mat and wipe the floor with the other fighter.

"Told you so," Guerrero said.

Cindy poked her head in the door. "I'm going to sleep. Tell me what happens in the morning," she said.

"Will do, kid," Guerrero said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Night," Eddie said.

"Night, Eddie," Cindy said.

* * *

Cindy tossed and turned in her bed. She couldn't get comfortable. Rolling over, she stared at the clock. She had been trying to go to sleep for thirty minutes. She huffed and flopped onto her back. She actually wanted to sleep, and her body refused to relax! She considered reading a couple chapters in her book, but knew that would only keep her mind awake.

Slipping out from underneath the covers, she padded downstairs to get a drink of water. Carmine saw her but didn't bark and she patted his head as she passed by. When she slipped past the tech room, she heard Winston's voice say through the webcam, "What happened out there? You know, a couple more minutes of that stuff and you'd be the human _doorstop."_

She giggled a little and walked into the kitchen. Chance must be okay if Winston was worrying. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed some ice, and found a cup. She'd just use the tap water from the sink. She took a sip of the water and stared to go back to bed, but a snippet of conversation stopped her.

"What do you mean he's got the yips?"

Cindy's forehead wrinkled. _It sounds more like something Carmine would have,_ she thought. She scooted closer to the tech room door.

Eddie explained, "You know, when a ball player hits a slump? He's in his _head_. All the parts that need to work aren't working. Double vision, reaction time gone to pot. Weird …ringing noise like nails on a chalkboard, but in your head?"

"What'd you do about it?" Chance's computerized voice asked. Cindy couldn't see the screen from her vantage point.

"Oh, I tried a bunch of things," Eddie assured them. "Tried cutting out dairy. My buddy told me to wear two right shoes. I slept with my gloves on for a while." He coughed. "Like a year."

"Alright," Guerrero said definitively, giving Eddie an incredulous look, "You're an idiot."

Cindy had to bite her lips to keep from laughing. It wasn't very _nice _to call people that, but the way he said it made her laugh. She must have made some sound, though, because Guerrero heard her. "I thought you went to bed," he said.

"I did. I was thirsty," she said, holding up her glass of water as evidence. Guerrero rolled his eyes.

She listened to Winston and Chance bicker, and then Chance said, "Guerrero, did you talk to Frank yet?"

"_Still_ waiting on a call back," Guerrero said, exasperated.

"Yeah, well, Guerrero's gonna talk to Frank _soon,_ and everything's gonna work out just fine. This 'yips' thing is probably just ...nerves." Chance went off-screen.

_"Nerves_," Winston said, disgusted. "Have you ever known him to be nervous about anything?"

"Final jeopardy questions?" Guerrero shrugged, playing with a pen. "Volcanoes?"

Winston scowled. "Yeah, well, I don't care what he says; until this 'yips' thing gets figured out, I'm not taking any chances. We're going to fix his next fight."

Guerrero leaned toward screen.

"What?" Winston demanded.

"And you call yourself a role model? There's a kid in the room, dude."

Winston snorted.

"Why is Chance barking?" Cindy asked.

"It's the 'yips'," Eddie corrected.

"Don't worry about it, kid, just get to bed. You've got to go back to school tomorrow," Guerrero said.

Cindy made a face. "I was hoping you'd have forgotten about that."

"Nope," Guerrero said, shaking his head. "Bed," he said, pointing.

Cindy sighed and went.


	17. Chapter 17

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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**AN: soooo... i've gotten a couple requests to you know, speed things up, and go on to some action. I plan to move this story through the episode Christopher Chance and then end it, or keep going, depending on how the new season lines up with this fic, but I really want to put another episode in between here and there. So I'm sorry, but you will have a little wait. I've picked Victoria, because i can come up with a lot of Cindy original stuff, and still have Guerrero being Guerrero, and maybe do some cool stuff with his character, because I like that episode too. So, tough love time, y'all. you should be conforted by the fact that the new season comes on the air September 24, like Arlothia keeps telling me :) I definitely will update once or twice a week, depending on how my schedule works out. but my school starts early, and i have lots of pre-activities before that, so yeah. I love you guys, and I'm definitely not stopping this story. just taking a steady pace. anyhoo. here ya go.  
**

Someone turning on her light rudely awakened Cindy. She moaned and rolled over. "It's too early!" she mumbled.

"It's the same time you get up every morning; c'mon kid," Guerrero said.

She sat up and stared blearily at him. "Why can't I stay home? I want to know what'll happen to Chance!"

"I don't want your teacher mad at me, kid. Up."

Cindy laughed and threw back the covers. "You aren't scared of her. You aren't scared of anything!"

Guerrero snorted and left her to get dressed. Little did she know; he was scared of one thing: losing her.

* * *

Ten minutes later, she finally pounded down the stairs, and Guerrero handed her a granola bar and a glass of milk. "Let's go," he said. She bit into the granola bar and entered the elevator.

Guerrero listened to Winston's conversation with Foster. Winston really needed to work on his pitch. Foster was sharper than most fighters, maybe because he had taken dives before, and avoided painful jabs to his head, further scrambling his brain. Guerrero was only paying attention with half an ear, but suddenly something Foster said clicked, and a light bulb lit up over his head. Not literally, of course, but still.

"World peace, ay? A time machine…and to go down in history as the greatest boxer that ever lived," Foster snapped.

Guerrero spoke over Winston's comm. link. "Tell him okay."

"Okay?" Winston said, surprised and shocked.

"Alright… alright," Foster said.

Guerrero could see Winston's face through the camera system, and he was about to open his mouth. "Okay," Guerrero said, stopping the words. He was pretty sure he could make that last request happen. But first he had to call New Girl and ask her if she could pick Cindy up from school while he worked on getting Foster into the Boxing Hall of Fame.

"So this guy leaves the sport disgraced," Eddie said, watching Foster lie down and throw the fight. "The commissioner _himself _says that if Foster Larouche ever steps into the ring again it'd be over his _dead body_, and you got him place in the boxing hall of fame?

"The commissioner and I have a relationship," Guerrero explained, working on his laptop.

"What kind of a relationship?" Eddie asked warily.

"The kind where I get a _monthly stipend_. Certain photos stay stashed in a drawer, and _he_ says happily married," Guerrero said in a satisfied tone.

"Should this go on the list of things I'm not supposed to do?" Cindy asked, poking her head in the door.

"Yeah, probably," Guerrero said. "And put eavesdropping on that list, too."

Cindy laughed and disappeared again.

"Does she do that much?" Eddie asked.

"I don't know," Guerrero replied. That was actually kind of sad when he thought about it. "Start investigating this guy Diego Cruz," he instructed Eddie. "I'll be back in a sec." He pushed away from the desk.

He found Cindy in the kitchen, snacking on an apple. "When did you get back?" He asked.

"Couple of minutes ago," she said nonchalantly. "Leila dropped me off."

"How was school?" Guerrero asked, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee.

She shrugged. "Okay. I told Ms. Jeffries that I'm reading now, and she seemed to like that."

"What'd I tell ya? Books are good."

She smiled and said, "How's it going with Chance?"

"We fixed his fight, so he won. I've got Eddie started on digging stuff up on his next opponent."

"Is Chance gonna win that one too?" Cindy asked, pushing her blond hair away from her face.

"Supposed to," Guerrero said. "How're your eyes doing?"

Cindy shrugged. "Okay. I sit near the front so I can see the board."

"Hey, Guerrero?" Eddie called from in the tech room.

Guerrero rolled his eyes behind his glasses. "Yeah?"

"I can't find anything on this guy," he said worriedly.

Guerrero sighed. "C'mon kid, let's go help Eddie find what's right in front of his nose." Cindy giggled and they walked into the room.

Half an hour later, Guerrero realized Eddie was right. There was very little information on Diego Cruz, even using his special sources. He figured he had been a little wrong about Eddie. Of course he'd never _apologize_; he wasn't that kind of guy. But once he made a mistake, he didn't make it again. His phone buzzed, and the caller ID said 'Winston.'

"Hey, dude," he answered.

"How's the digging going?" Winston asked. "Chance fights Diego tonight."

"Not so hot, dude," Guerrero said. "I'm gonna turn on the web cam, 'kay?"

"Right, standing by," Winston muttered.

A few taps on the computer, and they were live. "Hi Chance, Winston," Cindy said, waving.

"Hey, hon," Chance said.

Winston nodded. "Hello Cindy. So… Diego Cruz."

"Not gonna lie to ya, this is probably the last guy you want to fight in this tournament," Guerrero said dissatisfiedly. "What I dug up is _not_ encouraging." He held up a single sheet of paper.

"That's it?" Chance asked, surprised.

Eddie summed up what they had found. "Born in Brazil, served in the army… the guy's got _no_ attachments, _no_ weaknesses."

"There's _nothing _to exploit," Guerrero said, irritated. "I checked all over, man. From what I can tell all he does is eat, sleep, and fight."

"And he knocked out Hollis Ray in ten seconds," Winston muttered. "Give us a second will you fellas?" The webcam went dark; Winston had closed the computer.

"Do I look like a 'fella'?" Cindy asked.

"No," Eddie said.

"Thank goodness," Guerrero added. "If you had, your mom would've had a fit."

"How do you know?" Cindy asked curiously.

Guerrero glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Eddie, you want to give us a minute?"

"Uh, sure," he said, scratching his red head. Eddie headed into the kitchen.

"How do you know Mom would have had a fit? You only came around …for me," Cindy said in a soft voice. All her memories of him were the same. He would come, take her out for a movie, ice cream, or go to the zoo, something. Then he'd drop her back at her mom's apartment after an hour or so and she wouldn't see him again for a month or so. She couldn't remember ever having a conversation with both her mom _and _her dad.

Guerrero stared at the wall. "What'd your mom tell you about me?" he asked finally.

"That you're my dad," Cindy said. There was an implied 'duh' in that sentence. "And hints about what you did and stuff. She said you don't get attached."

"Your mother and I were friends growing up," Guerrero said. Cindy sensed this was going to be interesting, so she settled down to listen. "Not the closest, though. More like a passing acquaintance. But I got involved with Chance's old boss, and cut the ties with the past." He shrugged. "Fast forward ten years. I walk into a bar and see a pretty girl. I recognize her, and, even weirder, she recognizes me." He glanced at Cindy and said, "Fast forward a month later. She calls me and says she's pregnant with you and her boss fired her. I moved in for two months until she could get back on her feet. End of story."

Cindy stared at him. That was like the spark notes version! What was with that? Had there been any feelings between her parents at all? She had never known, and had always been afraid to ask in case the answer was no. "The story ended when she died, not after you left," she whispered.

"Yeah, well, cancer does that," Guerrero said reflectively, fingering a coffee mug.

Cindy drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "I miss her," she whispered.

He got up ruffled her hair. "She retired for you, you know," he told her.

"Yeah," Cindy mumbled. "She told me."

"Even changed her name."

Cindy lifted her head. "I never knew that."

"Yep," Guerrero said. "Used to be Sandra. But she changed it to Rahab."

Cindy smiled a bit, and impulsively gave him a hug. "Thank you for telling me," she said, her words muffled as she spoke into his chest.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing her back.

* * *

For anyone who doesn't know, Rahab is the innkeeper or prostitute, depending on what translation you use, who hid the spies from the people of Jericho and helped them escape. As a result, her family was saved when the walls of Jericho fell down. Look it up, it's in Exodus or Joshua, I can't remember which. ;) She's in the geneologies of Jesus, too :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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**AN: This is a little short. My bad. school starting up. but i will get to motoring on Victoria. got most of Guerrero down, just have to crank up my Cindy muse. I'll try to keep up updating every week. bug me if I go too long without posting, lol :) And I stand corrected -Human Target season two starts October something, not september. I'm annoyed. Are you? *Ahem* anyhow. hope you like it.  
**

18

"Are you sure you didn't just hear him wrong?" Guerrero asked. He was listening to Winston on the comm. link and eating Chinese take out with Eddie and Cindy.

"No, no, what he said was 'Prentice is always going to be a problem for _me_'. Not for _Ava_, for _me._ So here's what I'm thinking." Winston paused. "Now it's gonna sound a little out there so just hang with me…"

Guerrero said, after chewing and swallowing, "You're saying it's a Freudian slip. Chance sees himself in Ava. Prentice uses her the same way his old boss used him. What you _actually_ think he's afraid of is a showdown with the old man, and _that's _what's causing the yips, right?"

Winston's tone was incredulous and disbelieving. "Yeah. Yeah, exactly. Hey, how did you know I was gonna-"

"It's not brain surgery dude," Guerrero said nonchalantly. The bespectacled man could envision his expression: mouth slightly open, one eyebrow higher than the other, eyes big. Classic Winston.

"…What are we talking about?" Eddie asked.

Guerrero gave him a look. "_We_?" He was never in the conversation to begin with.

"We're going to have to shake him loose," Winston rumbled over the computer link.

"That's _great _Winston," Guerrero said sarcastically. "_Unfortunately_, there's not a whole heck of a lot we can do about that now." He watched Cindy feed Carmine some Chinese, which the Rottweiler seemed to like a whole lot. _It's probably a main staple of the dog's diet,_ Guerrero thought, _knowing Chance_.

"I'll call you back," Winston said shortly, and he ended the connection.

Guerrero glanced at his watch. He should probably call Frank again. Sheesh, didn't the guy ever answer his phone?

* * *

"I guess this is it, huh? It's gonna be fine, right?" Eddie asked anxiously, watching Chance's final fight begin on the screen. He twiddled his thumbs and moved his swivel chair back and forth.

Guerrero looked at Eddie placidly. The guy seriously needed to chill.

"Of course he'll be fine," Cindy said from her place on the floor. "Chance always wins. Come and pet Carmine."

Eddie, still clearly nervous, began to scratch the dog with his uninjured arm. Carmine panted happily.

Cindy was good at distraction. Guerrero would have to remember that for future reference. His eyes studied the screen, watching Chance and Diego circle before they engaged. A couple of hits, and an especially strong one to the jaw, sent Chance down onto his knees. The ref kept Diego off Chance until he picked himself up. He shook his head and seemed to have made a decision because he started hammering at Diego and wouldn't let up until the ref called for a break. Moving Chance over to one side of the arena, the ref clapped him on the back and laughed.

_Thanks, Frank,_ Guerrero thought. He loved knowing people in all places, high and low.

Chance began to have Diego Cruz for lunch. Guerrero smiled as Cindy cheered, "Go Chance!"

And then Diego was on the mat.

Eddie said, "YES!" He spun around in his chair, pumping his uninjured arm into the air. Cindy squealed and hugged Carmine, who smiled a doggy smile.

Guerrero sipped from his coffee mug, unmoved. "What were you guys worried about?" he asked. He switched to the camera system in the arena, and they watched Bevilaqua crumple up Prentice's check.

Eddie was still in a state of shock. "You told Bevilaqua that you'd get _Prentice_ to bet everything he owns. But really your plan was to get _Ava_ to make the bet."

Guerrero began cleaning up. "Step four," he said, handing a Chinese carton to Eddie.

"Step four? Which means you knew all along that Prentice killed her father!"

Guerrero folded up the laptop and set it aside, and started stacking the papers spread all over the table. "Yep."

"Which means I can go home?" Eddie asked ecstatically, throwing his arms wide.

The shorter, wiry man looked at him warily. "Hug me, dude, and you're a dead man."

"But Cindy does it–"

"Cindy's my _kid_, dude; you _aren't_," Guerrero said, exasperated.

Eddie looked a bit chagrined, but held out his cast arm in a fist. Guerrero fist bumped him, deciding that much contact was okay, while Cindy giggled on the floor.

* * *

Chance and Winston came home the next day, very jet-lagged and extremely tired. "So, you survived?" Chance asked Guerrero.

" 'Course, dude," Guerrero said.

"Where's Cindy?"

"At school."

Chance nodded in understanding. "So the suspension's over, huh? Too bad, it was fun having her around all the time." Chance glanced over at his friend. "Have you thought about what you're going to do about her?"

"How so?" Guerrero asked, glancing at Chance out of the corner of his eye.

"I mean, long term. Are you gonna keep her here indefinitely?" Chance shrugged. "I don't mind if you do. Just saying that you need to think about it."

"Okay," Guerrero said.

"Have you told her about Baptiste yet?"

Guerrero glanced at him over the top of his glasses. "Not yet. I've been working up to it."

"Tell her," Chance advised. "It'll be easier to figure out what to do once she knows."

"Why should I take the advise of a really drowsy and jet-lagged guy?" Guerrero asked.

Chance laughed. "Right. I'll tell you again when I've slept."

"You do that, dude," Guerrero said. Chance walked up the stairs, leaving Guerrero stirring his coffee.

**Reviews are love and inspiration :) **


	19. Chapter 19

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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**AN: SO SORRY. School says YOU SHALL NOT PASS! I'm trying to prove it wrong. but i'm hoping to zoom through Victoria fairly fast and then onto CC. I just have to write Cindy's scenes for the next couple chapters. So here you go.**

A week later

"Why do you have to go to New York?" Cindy asked from where she sat at the table, doing her math homework.

"Chance is protecting a princess; Winston and I have to scoop up her boyfriend," Guerrero said, packing a duffel bag.

Cindy raised an eyebrow. "Princesses have boyfriends?"

"Apparently," Guerrero said, casting a glance at her.

"I thought they had princes," Cindy said in a lightly disappointed voice.

"Oh, they do," Chance said, coming into the room with his own duffel. "She's got one of those. But she loves her boyfriend more."

"Oh," Cindy said, clearly not understanding. The girlish dreams of princes on white horses hadn't been totally dislodged by her upbringing. They still hung on tight. She blinked, watching Guerrero stuff things into his duffel. A large computer, a large pocket knife, an aerosol can full of an unknown substance, and a back-up hard drive all got tossed in, along with a lot of stuff she couldn't identify. "Are you planning on checking that?" she asked.

He kept packing. "Nope."

"They won't let you through airport security," Cindy pointed out.

"We'll see about that," Guerrero said confidently.

Winston walked into the room in order to see him shove the last item in. "Oh, good night, what the –what do you think you're doing?" he said, casting a glance at Cindy.

"Packing, dude," Guerrero said, smirking.

"I'm not gonna bail you out when you get caught by airport security," Winston said. "Oh, no, I'm just gonna keep on walking, even if we do need you for the job."  
"Thanks, man," Guerrero said. "I appreciate that. Sitting with you on hard airport security chairs would be awful."

Chance snorted from his place at the counter. Cindy had almost forgotten he was there; he had an ability to blend in when he wanted to. She guessed that's what made him good at his job.

The elevator buzzed, and someone called, "Yoo hoo!"

Carmine could move pretty fast when he wanted to. All Cindy saw was a black blur speeding past. "No, Carmine," the female voice said, "You can't have any of my food."

"I asked New Girl to come and stay with you while we're away. It should only be a day or two at most," Guerrero said.

"Leila," the woman objected, coming around the corner.

"How do you do that?" Cindy asked.

"It's a gift," she said, running a hand through her red hair.

"Ready to go?" Chance asked the guys. Affirmative nods were given. "Okay."

"Bye," Cindy called as they walked out of the room. A couple seconds later, she jumped up from her seat and ran into the den right as they started to get in the elevator. She threw her arms around Guerrero from the back and said, "Come back soon!" It was a little muffled since it was said into his back. Then she let go and scurried back into the kitchen.

"Will do," Guerrero called back, and then they left.

* * *

After eating (Leila had brought KFC over, and Cindy had given Carmine her green beans), Leila asked, "Okay! What do you want to do?" She put on a smile, but her eyes were sort of nervous.

"Are you getting paid for this?" Cindy asked. She had heard that it wasn't polite to ask people what job they did and how much they got for it, but if you did that you never found out anything. But in the future, she'd have to learn how to do it tactfully, because Leila looked a little taken aback.

"Well, yes…" she said, like it might be a bad thing.

"That's cool," Cindy said, reassuring her. "I just don't need to be babysat."

"Well, we can go and do things sometimes," Leila said. "I'm not just a nerd who stares at a computer all day."

They grinned at each other.

"Can we go and take Carmine for a walk?" Cindy asked. "I've only been here and to school for the last couple weeks."

"Sure!" Leila said, and Cindy went to go hunt up Carmine's leash.

* * *

Guerrero sat by the window with a satisfied air in the coach section of the plane. Winston settled down in the aisle seat. Chance was up in first class; his cover made it unwise to be seen with them right now.

Winston shifted in his seat. "Go ahead and say it."

"Say what?" Guerrero asked with an innocent expression.

The larger man glared. "You _know_ what. You've been thinking it for the last hour."

Pretending to not understand, Guerrero asked, "You mean, why planes only serve drinks and snacks now? They're cutting costs, dude. They don't even give you free peanuts anymore –"

"Cut the baloney," Winston muttered. "I mean how you got that bag through security."

"Oh, _that,_" Guerrero said. "Piece of cake, dude. Next time, ask me to do somethin' hard."

"Like break into Fort Knox?"

"I think that's more like medium, dude."

Winston groaned, and Guerrero smiled and enjoyed the plane's liftoff.

**Reviews are love and inspiration :) **


	20. Chapter 20

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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**AN: Again. Terribly sorry. Hopefully, I can get the other one up sooner. But don't hold your breath. :P anyway, lots of hinted things in this chapter. look for them! :)  
**

Leila watched Cindy keep a firm grip on Carmine as they walked down the sidewalk. He kept trying to sniff the other people walking by. The redhead decided this wouldn't be so bad; Cindy was a good kid, and she was funny and smart. She wouldn't be a brat. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out, smiling a little as she read the text.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Cindy asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Um, yeah," Leila said. "Kind of. His name's Martin." She put her phone away and asked, "How'd you know?"

"You smiled funny," Cindy said offhandedly. "And Chance said you had one."

"He did?" Leila asked, startled.

"Yeah, 'cause he talks to him sometimes or something. Did you meet him on a job?" Cindy asked.

"Actually," Leila said, and then paused for Cindy to make Carmine heel once again. "Actually, we both used to work for the same company, but, um… he's just about brilliant, and they didn't want him to give his ideas to anyone else, so…yeah," she said, trailing off. "Chance came and got him out of there. The weird thing was we had been talking over chat and we hadn't really known…well," she blushed, "I knew, because I was in security and could see all the cameras, but he didn't know I worked there. Or that I was a girl," she added.

Cindy raised an eyebrow, and Leila went a little redder. The whole situation had been pretty awkward, but it had gotten better after she gave him his fish.

"Is he nice?" Cindy asked suddenly, while they walked across a crosswalk.

Leila blinked. "Yes," she answered, a little surprised.

"Okay," Cindy said, apparently satisfied. Then she noticed the woman's look and said, "What?"

"Oh nothing," Leila shrugged. "Just…most people ask if he's cute."

"Is he?"

"I think he is."

"Being cute is okay, but being nice is better," Cindy said decisively. "There are a lot of cute people who aren't nice."

"I suppose that's true," Leila said, smiling. The blond girl looked up at her, grinning shyly. Carmine panted, happy to be on a walk. None of them noticed the person tailing them.

* * *

"You're gonna want to turn left in two blocks to get to the 59th street bridge," Guerrero told Winston. They were in a rental car, scouting the streets of New York for the way to get to Tony, Princess Victoria's boyfriend. She was in some trouble, and so was he, if things went the way Guerrero expected them to. He had a policy, always expect the worst. You weren't shocked by any horrible stuff, and pleasantly surprised when something better happened. Murphy's Law, Guerrero version.

Winston said, "No."

The GPS said in a fake female voice, "_Directions are now being sent to your vehicle_."

"Left," Guerrero repeated.

"Not gonna happen," Winston said, staring straight ahead.

"Dude."

"I don't do anything until the lady tells me to," Winston said, a calm expression on his face. Guerrero knew how easily it could become annoyed.

_"In a quarter mile, turn left onto 28th street,"_ the female voice said.

Winston turned.  
"You'd trust the word of a broad who lives in the dash over mine?" Guerrero asked, unbelieving.

"Yes… yes I do," Winston said in a self-satisfied voice.

"I lived here for eight years, dude," Guerrero said, staring at the road. "There are certain things you just don't do here… like question a New Yorker when he's giving you directions," he said, twisting his mouth. He had been born here, and lived in the city on and off for most of his life, so he considered himself to belong. His personality made him adaptable to just about anywhere, but NY and San Francisco were some of the more favorable spots.

A pedestrian caught his eye. He continued with his list. "Don't use crosswalks," he said with distaste, "Don't eat pizza with a fork and a knife –"

The OnStar phone in the car began to ring. Winston punched the button and said, "Yeah?"

"What's the hold up?" Chance's voice asked, a little harried. "I gave you that address about a half an hour ago."

"Well, there's a bit of a disagreement over the best way to get there," Winston said with a glance at the man in the passenger seat.

"Okay," Chance said, exasperated. "Spare me the play-by-play. Just find the guy and let me know when you got him, okay?"

"Yeah," Winston said, and punched the button off.

Guerrero took a breath and then turned to Winston. "Turn right up here."

Winston met his eyes with a look of condescension.

The GPS intoned, "In a quarter mile, turn right.

"Good," Winston said in a satisfied tone.

Guerrero rolled his eyes at the obstinacy of some people, and they turned right.

"This is it," Winston said, after arguing with Guerrero over directions for another five minutes. He pulled over to the curb and parked, just as an ambulance pulled up by the car garage.  
"Say, is that him out front?" Guerrero asked.

"Oh, boy," Winston said.

"Rather stupid of him," Guerrero remarked cynically.

They got out of the car and Winston whistled. "Are you Tony Sorrento?"

The guy looked back and forth at them warily.  
"Relax; I'm Winston. Gerard sent us to pick you up."

"Victoria's okay?" Tony asked as he shook Winston's hand.

"She will be," Winston said in a businesslike manner. "We're here to make sure you are, too."

"I'll be fine," Tony said confidently. "It's my uncle's garage. Nobody knows I'm here."

He began saying something about Victoria, but Guerrero saw movement up on top of a building across the street and stopped listening. It wasn't like he cared anyway. "Dude," Guerrero said, trying to get Winston's attention. There was unquestionably a person up there. And according to Murphy's Law, Guerrero's version, the person definitely wasn't up there to clean out their gutters.

Winston turned and spotted the same thing. "Get inside, get inside!" he said, hurrying Tony into the building. He pulled the garage door up, and Guerrero saw a blur of movement from within. Acting on many, many years of training, he grabbed the guy, twisted his wrist to make him drop his gun and used him as a shield for the first couple of bullets from the sniper's rifle.

The slugs struck the guy in the chest, and he cried out, jerking from the impact. Guerrero could feel the impact from the bullets. Blood spurted. He dropped the guy and ran for cover down one end of the garage, and Winston and Tony went the other way. After the first rain of bullets stopped, he said, "I think they know you're here, dude," he said sarcastically. Tony glared at him, and then all of their gazes turned to the sniper on the building.

* * *

"Carmine, don't pull my arm out of my socket," Cindy said, trying to get his leash off while still keeping a hold on her ice cream cone. They had walked him for blocks and blocks –one would think he'd be tired, but he wasn't. Or maybe he just wanted some of the mint chocolate chip ice cream.

"Here, I'll hold the ice cream," Leila said, and Cindy was now free to unhook Carmine from his leash. The dog darted across the room and curled up in his bed, thumping his short tail against its side.

"Dogs are so weird," Leila said, handing Cindy back her ice cream.

"Only sometimes," Cindy said absently, taking a lick. "Thanks for the ice cream."

"You're welcome," Leila said. "It's pretty good on a hot day like today."  
"Yep," Cindy said, and then blinked. The message machine was blinking. It wasn't for anything personal –all the guys had their own phones. So… who was it?

She went over and pressed the button.

**Reviews are love and inspiration :) **


	21. Chapter 21

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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**AN: Thank you for being so patient. I know it's been a long wait. I can't WAIT for the new season to start. maybe it'll be easier to write then... :) anyhoo. You don't want to listen to me. You want to read! So read away. I tried to resolve some things people have been wondering about. And it's sorta long too! so have fun :D  
**

Guerrero rolled his eyes, ignoring most of the conversation behind him. He respected the guy's work ethic –he even found people to save when he didn't have to –but he was getting a little overboard. Going out and possibly getting shot trying to save the person who just tried to shoot you was a little overboard in his book. Yet that was what the guy was trying to do.

Guerrero started to investigate under the hood of a car as Tony tried to go out to the assassin. Winston pulled him back and gave him a talking-to. Well, this was interesting. "Hey, 'kill zone', take a look at this." Guerrero stepped back for Winston to look under the hood.

"That's _clever_," Winston snapped, "You know, how you take the last thing I said and turn it into my _nickname_ or something? Yeah, that's clever." He frowned, turning to stare into the engine.

"I try," Guerrero said sarcastically, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "What do you think? Rotor?" he asked, motioning to the guts of the car.

Winston studied it. "Yeah. It's kind of corroded, I don't know. Maybe if we clean that up, we could get it started." His wary side kicked in. "But if we're in this car and it _stalls_ ten feet outside of the garage, we're sitting _ducks_."

"We're _already_ sitting ducks," Guerrero said in a patronizing voice.

"Yeah," Winston said, resigned. Then he jump-started to life. "Tony!" The guy was running outside.

The hail of bullets began again as Tony tried to drag the injured man inside. Winston threw him back and pulled the man back himself.

Guerrero stared. "Wow. That was stupid." Why the heck would he run out to save somebody that obviously wasn't his friend, especially when he could get shot himself? Then he caught sight of something over Tony's head and shot off down another train of thought.

"Don't do that again!" Winston yelled, pointing at Tony.  
"I'm sorry," he said.

Guerrero moved around them and opened the door of a jacked-up truck. He pulled a rifle out of the gun rack. "Yeah, now we're talkin'!" Guerrero said enthusiastically. He slammed the door. "If I can get a bead on the sniper, I can get a shot at him." He pushed some rounds into the weapon. "Now we just gotta draw him out."

Winston looked at him, the gun, and the car. "I think I got an idea." Guerrero knew what he was thinking. They both smiled.

* * *

The answering machine began to play back its message. "This is Amanda with a message for Guerrero," a female voice announced without any preamble. "It's near the end of the month. If you want me to keep Cindy's stuff, you'd better give me next month's check. If she isn't coming back here, you'd better come get her junk before I toss it." The message ended with a click.

Cindy stared at the machine. She'd been here nearly two and a half weeks. And she didn't know if she was going to keep staying here, or go back to living with Amanda. It was like living in limbo.

"Who was that?" Leila asked as she walked into the room.

Cindy licked her lips. "It was the woman I used to live with. Can you drive me there?" she asked. "I need to pick up some stuff, since I don't know what I'll be doing…"

"Sure," Leila said, concerned. "Do you want to go now?"

"In a minute or two," Cindy said. She ran a hand through her dishwater blond hair, thinking about Amanda.

She and her mom had been friends for a long time, but Cindy knew Amanda was younger than her mom. She had been there when her mom was going through cancer treatments, and had taken care of Cindy. So when her mom died, her dad picked Amanda for her to live with. She used to be nice; not acting like her mom, but sort of like a big sister…then a couple of years ago that all changed. She got really distant and sharp.

Cindy suspected it had to do with her job as an escort. Amanda would tell her over and over never to become like her. And Cindy didn't plan to, but she really wished the old Amanda would come back.

* * *

Guerrero stared through the sight on the rifle, staring at the rooftops. "This guy's good," he said. "Still no sign of him." He knew when to keep his head down.

"So what?" Tony asked, tending to the injured man. "He just waits up there forever?"

"Or until he calls in reinforcements to storm the place," Guerrero said, shifting his stance, but still resting the gun on the toolbox, training it at the roofs. "I imagine that's not _far_ off."

For a while, the only sound was the surgical tape being ripped off the roll. And then Tony said, "Whoa, what's this?" He pulled something out of the guy's pocket.

Guerrero looked up and set the rifle down to catch the object. "That's interesting," Guerrero said absently, turning the bottle around in his hands. "Look at this. _Industrial strength anesthetic_." Winston walked over and he held it up for him to see.

Tony looked at them, confused. "Why would he have that in his jacket pocket if he was just supposed to kill me?"

" 'Cause he wasn't," Winston rumbled. "Looks like the plan was to abduct you."

"Abduct me?" Tony asked incredulously. "What would they want to abduct me for?"

Guerrero and Winston exchanged looks. They didn't know.

* * *

Cindy stared up at the apartment building, and then got out of the car. "I won't be very long, I don't think," she told Leila.

"Do you want me to come with you?" the woman asked.

"No, I'll be fine," Cindy assured her. She walked up the steps to the second floor and down the hall. Her sign that had said, "password required, or the goblins will get you" had been taken down. Cindy pursed her lips and knocked on the door.

She had to wait for a while, such a long while that she thought Amanda was out. But then the lock turned and the door opened to reveal Amanda. She was a woman with long brown hair, tall and pretty when she wasn't frowning like she was now. Sans makeup, Cindy could see the fading bruise on her eye.

"What happened?" the girl immediately asked.

"It's not anything," Amanda said. "Are you back for good or just getting your stuff?"

"I…don't really know," Cindy said. "My dad's away right now, and I don't know where I'm going to be long-term. But I needed some stuff anyway."

The woman frowned and held the door open for her to enter. Cindy slipped into the dim apartment and hurried to her old room, which looked just as she had left it. She quickly gathered up her old beloved Narnia books and packed some extra clothes. She entered the living room, casting around for anything else she needed. Amanda sat at a computer, listlessly staring at the screen.

"Hey, Amanda," Cindy said.

She hadn't heard. "Hey, Amanda, do you know –" Cindy began, tapping her shoulder. Immediately, Amanda flinched and hissed, grabbing her shoulder. Cindy gasped in concern. "Are you okay?" she asked anxiously.

"It's just a bruise," Amanda snapped angrily, and then closed her eyes.

Cindy watched her sadly. "What happened to you?" she asked softly "You used to be nice. You used to talk to me about my mom. You used to smile and help me with my homework. What happened? Why are you so harsh now?"  
The brown-haired woman in front of her stared at her and took a shaky breath. Her eyes were broken, and she blinked back tears. "I have been mean, haven't I?" Amanda said quietly. "I've been a right selfish *$&%, caught up in my own problems and not caring about anyone…" she sniffed, and Cindy went and got her some Kleenex. She blew her nose. "Don't ever fall in love, Cindy. When he leaves you, and he always does, you become a bitter, bitter person. Like me. Don't fall for their tricks."

A lightbulb lit up over Cindy's head. "Jerry?" she asked.

Amanda nodded. "I thought I loved him. He wasn't…who I thought he was. He was a jerk." Her shoulders slumped. "And I took out all my pain on you. I shouldn't have."

"It's okay," Cindy said.

"No! No, it's not okay," Amanda whispered. "Rahab asked me to look after you. Your dad asked me to. I failed them; I let them down…" she laughed suddenly. "You know how messed up I am? I didn't even notice until you left. I didn't have anyone to take my bitterness out on except myself. I'm sorry, Cindy."

Cindy found she couldn't speak; her throat was filling with tears.

"Can you ever forgive me?" Amanda asked, with little hope in her eyes.

"Of _course_ I can, and _I do!"_ Cindy said. She threw her arms around the woman, careful of her shoulder. "I'm sorry you're hurting so much. But it won't get better by hanging around with guys who hurt you," the girl said. "It'll just make it worse."

"When did you get to be so wise?" Amanda asked, smiling a little.

Cindy shrugged, but continued talking. "You know what the name Amanda means?" the brown haired woman shook her head. "It means loveable." Cindy continued talking, her mouth pouring out her perception of the world. "One day, you're gonna meet somebody who will think the world of you, and he'll love you more than anything, and he won't treat you bad like some people because he'll _treasure _you, and you'll love him, too, and never want anybody else ever. And you may not be happy all the time because the world isn't perfect, but you'll be joyful because there's a difference. And just because you don't _feel_ happy and fuzzy inside all the time doesn't mean you're _not_ in love anymore; love is a _choice_, caring for somebody. It's not about how you _feel,_ see? Love is a verb." Cindy paused to take a breath.

"When did you figure all this out?" Amanda asked.

"From mom," Cindy said. "And watching you. You always told me not to be like you, and I figured out why. This way is better."

"Yes," Amanda said slowly, giving Cindy a hug. "Yes, it is."

**Reviews are love and inspiration :) **


	22. Chapter 22

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.**

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**AN: Okay, I really wanted to update today, but one scene jsut wasn't coming to me, so this is only half of what I planned. hopefully, i'll have the next chap up soon :D hope you like.  
**

"You got it?" Guerrero demanded, his eyes locked through the gun's sight. Tony looked anxiously on, still tending the injured man.

"We're good," Winston said, twisting something under the steering wheel of the car. The engine roared to life.

"This _better_ work, dude," Guerrero said warningly. "We've only got _one shot_ at drawing him out." _And if it doesn't work, we all cash in the chips, 'cause he'll call in the cavalry…_

Winston released the supports behind the car, and the tires squealed as it backed at a rapid pace down the driveway. The sniper across the way saw the blurred car and began to fire, going for the windows. Glass shattered, and the car backed into the curb, halting.

The sniper lifted his head to see if anyone still moved inside the car, giving Guerrero a clean shot. In Guerrero's world, it had always been kill or be killed. And no way was he getting Tony killed, even if he didn't think much of the guy. "Hey dude," he muttered, and squeezed the trigger. The gunman keeled over, and Guerrero opened both eyes.

Winston was already helping Tony move the man into the ambulance they'd use for escape. Guerrero hopped in the back as Tony said, "Somebody else needs to drive," and held out his keys.

His eyes lit up. "Cool," Guerrero said, immediately grabbing the keys. Opportunity knocks and all that.

"There's a GPS under the dash," Tony went on.

Sitting down and bouncing a little in the driver's seat, Guerrero said sarcastically, "Great," and tossed the instrument out the window. Like he needed somebody _else_ telling him what to do. He was a New Yorker. Directions came naturally. He put the ambulance in drive and the pulled away from the curb at a fast pace, headed for the museum.

* * *

Amanda helped Cindy carry her things down to the car. Leila looked up anxiously as Cindy walked down the stairs with the strange woman. Cindy smiled, trying to ease things. "Hey Leila, this is Amanda. She was my…house mom, kinda."

"Hi…" Leila said slowly, obviously trying to assess the situation.

Cindy smiled bigger, trying to signal that it was all okay.

"Nice to meet you," Amanda said, sticking out her hand after a second. After Leila shook it, things seemed to get a whole lot more relaxed as the two women grinned at each other.

"So, everything's all worked out?" Leila asked.

"'Well…not everything," Cindy said. "I'm still in limbo. But yeah. Mostly."

"So long, kiddo," Amanda said, giving Cindy an unexpected hug. Cindy got her arms around her and hugged her back. "Thanks," the woman said emotionally.

"Sure," Cindy said, smiling. "And I'll still see you sometimes, even if I don't end up living with you."  
"Of course," Amanda said, ruffling her hair. She walked up the stairs to her apartment and Cindy climbed in the car.

"She doesn't like goodbyes," Cindy said by way of explanation.  
"Ready to roll?" Leila asked, starting the engine.

"Yep!" Cindy agreed, bouncing in her seat. Away they went.

As they pulled away from the curb, a dark sedan followed them, keeping three car lengths behind. Neither Leila nor Cindy noticed.

* * *

Guerrero pulled to a stop and all of the passengers got out except for the wounded guy, who was sleeping. "You comin'?" Winston asked.

"Nah, dude. I'm gonna stay here and guard the dude in the back," Guerrero said.

"Okay," Winston said, accepting his explanation since they were pressed for time. They ran into the museum, and Guerrero leaned back in the driver's seat, watching traffic and occasionally glancing back to make sure Wounded Guy didn't move.

And then he got bored, so he pulled out his phone and dialed Chance's landline. On the third ring, Leila the Still-New Girl picked up. "Hello?" she asked.

"It's Guerrero," he said, without preamble. "Is Cindy there?"

"Yeah, she's up in her room," Leila said. "One sec." The line was silent for a while, and then he heard Cindy's voice.

"Hey!" she said enthusiastically. "How's the job?"

He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Well, Chance has got the princess, and Winston and the boyfriend have got the evidence, so it'll all work out."

"Will you come home soon?" Cindy asked.

"Yep," he said.

"Did you see the princess? Is she pretty?" Cindy asked, with a hidden note of longing.

"Nope, haven't seen her," Guerrero said, tilting his head to the side. "Ask Chance when we get home."  
"Okay," she sighed.

"What's up on that end?"

"Amanda left a message about stuff, so I went over to get some more clothes and stuff. Am I going to stay at Chance's long term, or go back with her?" Cindy asked.

Guerrero frowned and thought about it. "There are…things you don't understand, Cindy."

"About why I'm living with Chance in the first place?"

"Yeah, that."

"Well. Can't you just tell me?" Cindy asked, sounding a little exasperated.

"We'll talk when we get home, okay?" Guerrero said.

"Okay," Cindy said, dissatisfied. "And you'll come home soon?"

"Yep."

"Okay," she said again.

Guerrero looked up to see British people coming out of the museum, probably to collect Wounded Guy. Yeah, he could see Winston among them. "Look, I've gotta go," he said. "But I am coming soon."

"Bye," she said. "Love you."

Guerrero blinked. "Bye," he finally said, and severed the connection.

**Reviews are love and inspiration :) **


	23. Chapter 23

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. I'm not making a profit or anything; entertainment purposes only. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**AN: YAY! so i finally updated. go me. anyhoo. after this, we get into CHRISTOPHER CHANCE! win. :D I'm deciding what to do about the course of this story, and hopefully, I'll have made a couple of decisions to put to y'all soon. so enjoy!**

Cindy almost tackled them as they disembarked from the plane. Guerrero caught her before she careened into the suitcases. "Hi," she said, grinning madly like the Cheshire cat. "I missed you." She buried her face in his jacket. Guerrero ruffled her hair by way of greeting.

"Hey, Cindy," Chance said. Winston nodded silently; Guerrero knew that he was still tired from the plane trip. A kid three rows up hadn't stopped screaming the whole flight. Guerrero, who could sleep through anything, didn't care a bit. Winston did. Hey, Guerrero had offered to spike the kid's milk and make it sleep, but nooooo. So he had rested satisfyingly while Winston hadn't._ That's your own fault, dude,_ he thought, adjusting his glasses smugly.

"Hi!" Cindy said, greeting Chance. "Was the princess pretty?"

"Uhh…I guess so," Chance said, not ready for the question. He had been in first class, but he hadn't gotten much sleep either.

Cindy stared at him, expecting details.

"She was blond," Chance said, trying to figure out what Cindy wanted to hear. "And…she could fence."

Cindy's eyes got huge. Her eyes glanced from Chance to Guerrero.

"Ask Chance, not me," Guerrero said, busy checking the messages on his phone.

Cindy's eyes focused on the blond man. Chance finally got it. "No, I will not teach you how to fence."

"Eddie taught me how to box!" Cindy argued.

Winston woke up and exclaimed, "What?" Chance raised an eyebrow and stared at Guerrero.

"It kept them both out of trouble," Guerrero said nonchalantly.

Cindy grinned, working on her strategy to wrangle some fencing lessons.

"Soooo," Leila said, thus far ignored. "Baggage claim?"

* * *

Once back at the ranch, Leila took her leave, citing a need to sleep in her own bed and feed her fish before it croaked. Carmine had ran straight for the elevator when it dinged, and Cindy helped Chance keep the large dog away from the bags and restrain him from jumping on Chance. The message machine was blinking again, and as Winston punched the button, the voice of an unfamiliar woman spilled into the room.

"Hello," her voice drawled, "I think you know who this is, Mr. Christopher Chance. It took me quite awhile to dig up your phone number, congrats. I'm still waiting on that date. When your schedule has a timeslot that isn't full of saving the world from bad guys, give me a call. Bye."

Winston raised an eyebrow at Chance, who shrugged helplessly.

"Who was that?" Cindy asked interestedly.

"This FBI lady Chance ran into a while back," Guerrero said. "She stalks him."

"Oh," Cindy said, wondering why she hadn't heard of this earlier.

"I'm going to sleep," Chance said, putting off returning FBI lady's call and disappearing upstairs. Winston waved goodnight and left to return to his own apartment.

"So," Cindy said, turning expectantly to Guerrero as soon as the others were gone. "Now would be a good time to tell me whatever you can't tell me over the phone."

Guerrero looked at her askance. "You don't waste much time, do you, kid?"

"Nope," she said happily, plopping down on the sofa as Carmine came to sit by her feet.

He sighed and sat down as she wriggled close to him. "It has to do with me leaving the old man's organization."

"After Chance left with Katherine?" Cindy asked, just checking the facts.

"Yep." He stopped, unsure how to continue. "Well, you know the FBI chick that just called?"

"Who stalks Chance?"

"Yeah, she's sort of obsessive," Guerrero said, remembering the room full of Chance leads. Creepy. "Touchy, too," he added, as an after thought. "Anyway, we needed her help to protect a bunch of diplomats from an assassin."

"From the old man?" Cindy asked excitedly.

"No. Chance's old partner. Well, we needed to find him, so new –Leila –traced his cell number and I called him to try to get a fix on his location." Guerrero grimaced. "I pretended to wanna to betray Chance, but he saw through that. Threatened me back."

Cindy suspected she knew the answer, but asked anyway, "What… did he say?"

"He knows about you."

There were times she wasn't really positive her dad could be serious about a situation; he always seemed so cocky and sarcastic. But she knew he was deadly serious now. "And that's why you pulled me from Amanda's house?" she asked, seeking confirmation.

"Yep," he answered shortly.

"Oh." She didn't feel so safe now. "So I'm just here 'til …whenever?"

"Pretty much, dude," Guerrero said. "But it's not so bad, right? You aren't dying on all the Chinese takeout Chance orders."

"Nah," Cindy said, laughing. "And I see more of you than I ever did before."

He was silent, and she suddenly wondered if she had said the wrong thing. "Nothing wrong with that," he finally said. "I like hanging out with you, too."

She smiled up at him, drinking in the compliment like a flower drinking in the moisture from the soil. "Good," she said. Then she yawned.

"Someone needs to sleep," Guerrero noted.

"No I don't!" Cindy protested, around another yawn.

"Lies," Guerrero said. "And isn't tomorrow school?"

He had the most selective memory, Cindy thought to herself. He could conveniently forget about things he didn't want to do, but anything that she had to do he'd point out. "Okay," she said reluctantly, sliding off the couch. "Are you staying here?" she asked, knowing sometimes he went to his own place when she was asleep.

"Mmhmm," he nodded, turning the TV on low.

Cindy ascended the dark steps up to what she now called her room, getting ready for bed. Just before she was about to turn off the light, she realized she needed to do something. Flying silently down the steps, she jumped onto the couch and gave her dad a hug. "I missed you," she whispered. "Not just this last trip. All the times in between visits. But I know why you did it. You wanted to keep me safe."

He hugged her back silently.

"Love you," she whispered.

"Love you, too," he murmured into her hair.

She sighed, contented. Wriggling free, she said, " 'Night," and slipped back up the stairs to bed.

After she had gone, Guerrero sat on the couch for a long time, not really watching the TV, just thinking about everything in his life that had lead to Cindy. And after he thought about it, he realized he wouldn't change it if it meant changing her. Not a bit.

He discovered he liked being a dad.

**Reviews are love and inspiration :) **


	24. Important Author's Note

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. I'm not making a profit or anything; entertainment purposes only. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE! (This means read all the bold print)  
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**Okay, first of all, please don't kill me for this. But I am doing Nanowrimo this month, and I'm really scared of not getting the word count up to 50,000 in my original story. Between school and that and extracurricular activities, plus family and extra stuff, I just feel like I wouldn't be doing you all justice if i posted really bad chapters just to get them up, or ignored you without telling you.**

**So... I'm putting this story on hiatus until December.**

**(That's the please-don't-kill-me part)**

**I just don't think I can devote time to both stories and make them both good while at the same time get good grades and sleep. **

**But Human Target comes back on November 17, so that ought to make y'all happy! I know I'm excited.**

**I'm hoping to either hit the 50,000 word mark in Nanowrimo or completely finish my original story, whichever comes first. After that, it's right back on with this and with hopefully lots of good ideas since the new season will have started. I PROMISE I AM NOT ABANDONING THIS STORY! I love it and my awesome reviewers too much to do that! **

**But sadly I must pick and choose. I do have a page and a half of something written for the next chapter, and if you want me to post that, I can, but it has a really cliffie-esque ending, and I don't want to make y'all suffer.**

**unless you want to suffer or something...**

**But anyway. I hope you all understand why I've decided this. 1) THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE ENCOURAGEMENT, 2) I PROMISE TO COME BACK TO THIS STORY, 3) let me know if you want me to post that bit I've already written, and 4) I will see (word choice?) you all wonderful people at the beginning of December!  
**

**Have a Happy Thanksgiving, and Enjoy watching the new season of Human Target!**

**~~My Beautiful Ending  
**


	25. Chapter 24

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. I'm not making a profit or anything; entertainment purposes only. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**AN: Guess What? I'm back from winning Nanowrimo! it was a blast. :D And...I'm quite proud of this chapter. Very glad I didn't post it because it makes it better. Anyway, you don't want to read this, right? You want to read the chapter! yep. thought so. Anyway, be advised that hulu was evil and took Christopher Chance off, so I had to go off what I remembered. Enjoy! I missed y'all.**

**PS- Are you excited for tonight? CUZ I AM! XD here's something to make the wait less hard.  
**

It was a perfectly ordinary Saturday. Cindy was making pancakes, and Carmine was supervising, panting happily as he envisioned receiving a portion of the food. Chance was reading the paper and drinking coffee, Guerrero was surfing the net on his phone, and Winston was trying to get the new software on his laptop to cooperate.

The tile in the kitchen felt cool to Cindy's bare feet, and she hummed happily as she flipped pancakes over. Cooking wasn't her forte, but breakfast she could do. Her green t-shirt had a torn shoulder and her jeans had holes in the knees, but that was okay, since she wasn't at school where they cared about stuff like that.

Carmine sneezed, and she took that to mean he thought the pancakes were done. She carefully lifted them off the griddle and stacked them on a platter. The girl could hear Winston muttering irritably from the den, while her dad snarked at him sarcastically. She peeked around the door and saw Chance smile wryly and take a sip of coffee.

Then, at the sound of a quiet thump from above, he almost spit it out.

All three men looked up instantly, going into hyper alert. Cindy froze, and her heart rate spiked. Could…could this be assassins? Or someone equally as bad? She had never really considered that anyone could actually invade _here._ It had always felt so safe!

Guerrero was the first one into action, jumping up from the couch and crossing the distance to her. Cindy yelped involuntarily when he swung her up bodily into his arms. Chance and Winston were moving to remove all signs of life, shoving computers and phones into desk drawers. As Guerrero climbed the stairs, Cindy peered over his shoulder and saw Chance hide her pancakes in the pantry. But she could still see his coffee cup on the table.

"Who's coming?" Cindy asked breathlessly as Guerrero set her down and began tapping on the wall. "Is it Chance's partner?" she asked.

"Dunno," he said tersely. He rapped a brick, and a small portion of the wall slid aside. Her eyes grew large; that was only supposed to happen in movies! "Get in," he said, shoving her inside. She could see the tautness around his mouth, the absolute focus in his eyes. "Don't make any noise. Don't come out until one of us comes to get you."

"Dad –" she began to exclaim, but the panel slid shut in front of her eyes.

It was completely black in there, except for a crack or two between the bricks. The crawl space was only big enough to kneel in, and it was wide enough for Cindy to reach out and touch the walls with both hands. Pressing her eyes to one of the cracks, she strained her eyes vainly to see anything, anything at all.

She couldn't see anything, but she could definitely _hear_ things. Glass broke. Things exploded. Guns fired. Gas filtered into the cracks. Panic seized her, thinking it was poisonous. But all it made her do was cough. It was probably just for distraction, she decided. But finally, things died down.

But no one came. She curled up with her knees to her chest, arms around them, chin on her kneecaps. It felt like so_ long_. But they hadn't come, and her dad had said to wait until they came.

Chance always won. Didn't he?

* * *

Guerrero's brain was working furiously. This was obviously the man who had sent the skinny thug to get dirt on Chance. And he had already questioned Chance and Winston; now he had gotten to him. He wasn't a praying man, but he was definitely praying now that they wouldn't find Cindy in the hidey-hole upstairs.

"Are you really telling me that you'd let him get away from you?" the man asked.

"What can I say?" Guerrero said sarcastically. "My heart grew three sizes that day."

He frowned. "Get him out of here," he muttered to his man.

Thug numero uno hauled Guerrero roughly out of the conference room and plunked him down in a chair, grabbing Winston to be taken in again. Guerrero scanned the room for Chance, and then deduced that he must be in another room. He scoped out the muscle problem. There were only two of them. He could take them if he had to; he had already picked the handcuffs.

And from the sound of the ruckus, he was going to have to.

Guerrero shot out of his chair and straight into the throat of the first guy, and then lashed out at the second guy with his foot. With a couple more hits, both went down. He snatched up a gun from them and headed out into the hall, finger on the trigger.

"Hey, dude," he said, seeing Chance come his way. "Where'd the goons go?"

"Pulled out," Chance said. "And they took Winston." His face was grim and set.

Guerrero lowered his gun. "We're gonna get him back, dude," he said.

Chance nodded somberly, worried. "I know that," he mumbled softly.

Guerrero knew that in this condition, Winston would probably put his hand on Chance's shoulder, tell him to relax and stop worrying, yada yada yada. But Guerrero wasn't a touchy-feely, feel–good kind of guy, so he just said, "Chill out, man. I need to go get Cindy."

He mounted the stairs two at a time, going to the secret hidey-hole that wasn't really meant for people but could be used as a place to store a smallish- sized person, if the situation demanded. And if Cindy was anything, she was smallish. The catch released, and the door opened to reveal his girl.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, at once leaping out and hugging him. "What happened?" she demanded.

"Are you okay?" Guerrero asked, ignoring her question.

"Yeah, unless that gas was more than just a smokescreen," Cindy asked with a lopsided smile.

" 'Kay," Guerrero said. "Let's go downstairs and make a plan."

"A plan for what?" Cindy asked, eyes wide.

"To find Winston."

"Where did he go?" Cindy asked, following him downstairs and snapping to Carmine.

"They took him," Guerrero said, setting the gun on the table. He watched Cindy's eyes but out at the sight of the blown windows.

"Who did? The guys who broke in here?" she asked.

"Yeah," Chance said, coming around the corner. "Listen, Guerrero…maybe it would be better if Cindy went to Leila or Amanda's."

"Leila's out of town, bro," Guerrero said.

"So. Amanda's," Chance said with finality.

Cindy looked between them, shocked. "What? Why?"

"Things are going to get messy," Guerrero said sternly. "We've only got a certain amount of time; it'll just be better for everyone if you go to Amanda's."

"Not better for me!" Cindy exclaimed. "I care about Winston too! Why'd they break in? Why'd they take him?"

"It's part of the long, enduring story of Chance's past," Guerrero said. "Messy and tragic."

Chance blinked, coming out of his funk for a second. "My past is like a ballad?"

Cindy and Guerrero gave him weird looks.

"Non sequitur, dude," Guerrero said. "Go pack, kid."

"But I –"

Guerrero turned a stern gaze on her. "Now."

Her mouth snapped shut and she went, if resentfully.

"Might have been a little harsh," Chance said as he heard her door slam hard.

_My heart definitely did not grow three sizes that day,_ Guerrero thought to him self. "There are only a couple of ways to get her to do things on short notice, dude," he said. "One of them is bribery. Another is asking nicely. Third option is putting your foot down hard."

* * *

Cindy put her feet up on the dash of Guerrero's Cadillac, staring angrily at the street as he drove her and her stuff back to Amanda's. She didn't want to go back; she wanted to stay with him!

"If you don't get your feet off my dash, you can sit in the back seat," Guerrero said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"If I sat in the back, I'd kick your seat," Cindy mumbled. She was mad.

Guerrero sighed. "If you're going to have a temper tantrum –"

"I am not!" She said shrilly, sitting up straight. "I'm not a little kid!"

"Then quit acting like it," Guerrero said sharply. "We might treat you older then."

She slumped down in her seat, letting her dishwater blond hair hang in front of her eyes. "If you treated me older I might not get so mad," she muttered. She glanced over at him and saw him roll his eyes. She swallowed hard, feeling bile and bitterness threaten to spill out. "I just –I just want to be there," she said dismally, hating the feeling of tears, hoping she wouldn't cry. "I'm worried about Winston too." She swallowed again, feeling her throat choke up.

Guerrero pulled over to Amanda's apartment building and stopped the car. He turned to her and said, "I know, kiddo. We all are." He put his right arm around her, and she leaned into it, letting the tears come.

"What if it was you?" Cindy asked, mumbling into his chest. "What if they took you? I don't have anybody else." She sobbed silently.

"It's not going to happen," Guerrero told her, rubbing her back. "Trust me."

"But what if it does?" she asked, feeling like she was going to cry some more.

"Then you go get Chance, have him kick some butt and take down some bad guys, pick me up, and it'll be okay again," Guerrero told her.

She had to laugh at that.

"Don't worry, kiddo, " he said. "We'll have him back before you know it."

Cindy smiled and he ruffled her hair before helping her take her stuff up to Amanda's apartment. The brunette opened the door, smiling at the sight of the girl. "Hey, kiddo," she said. "Back so soon?"

"Yep," Cindy said, rubbing her eyes.

"Your room's just the same; go on and put your stuff away," Amanda said. Cindy disappeared down the hall.

Guerrero inspected the woman, who had been Rahab's best friend. He trusted this woman with his child, but that didn't mean he trusted the company she kept. Although, from the looks of her bruises on her wrists, neither did she anymore.

She saw where his eyes were going. "He's only in town on weekends," she whispered. "And I'd never let him hit Cindy."

Guerrero looked at her steadily in the eye. "If you ever need to have him taken care of, you just let me know."

"Thanks," she said gratefully, looking down at her hands. "I'll consider it."

Cindy reappeared from her room and said, "I'm all squared away."

"Okay dude," Guerrero said. "You be good."

Cindy nodded, giving him a quick hug. "Be safe," she whispered.

"Aren't I always?" Guerrero asked.

Cindy laughed. "Yeah, right."

Guerrero smirked and walked out the door.

* * *

**AN: in answer to the enevitable question, no, I didn't put the old man in there because I was totally confused once i watched season 2 episode 1. Why did he even show up, or did they just toss him in there, or...? yeah, I don't even know. so I'm making it work without him. Also: REVIEW! :D**


	26. Chapter 25

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. I'm not making a profit or anything; entertainment purposes only. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**AN: This is kind of short, but I'm working diligently on the next chapter and hopefully we will have original goodness coming your way soon. Also, I'm super excited for the new episode tonight! Are you? :D  
**

Guerrero shifted uncomfortably in his police uniform. What a role reversal, since he hated the whole cop, lawyer, and prison shtick. It was necessary, though.  
He had eyeball on the group coming out of the bank vault and a hand on the gun by his side. "Chance, they're coming out," he muttered into the earpiece. His partner was chatting up some teller to get her to pull the alarm. "What's up bro? Can't let him get to the door, or this could get messy," Guerrero said, glancing back and forth from the group of bad guys to Chance.

Aaaand…the alarm still wasn't on. "Come on, dude, it's now or never," Guerrero muttered.

Snap BANG, Chance shot the alarm bell, sending the shrill ringing noise into high gear. Instantly, Guerrero raised his gun, locking onto the group by the door. "These guys are trying to rob the place," he told the actual policemen in the bank, who were looking confused. "Keep 'em covered."  
They didn't have to take his word for it; all the men in the group had pulled guns except for Winston, the hostage. And then everyone gasped when they saw the bomb strapped to Winston's chest.

"Put your guns down," the thin man said.

_Yeah, right,_ Guerrero thought, tightening his grip.

"Winston," Chance said, "I'm sorry about all this, all the torture, pain… and mostly I'm sorry about Aunt Suzie."

The bug guy's eyes widened, dilating as he got the hint of a plan they were about to pull. "Oh, not Aunt Suzie," he said despairingly.

_Yep, he always hated that one,_ Guerrero thought. _Can't really blame him, though._

"You got him?" Chance asked tersely.

"Yep," Guerrero said, eyes on the hand.  
BAM! Chance shot Winston in the shoulder; he fell. BANG! Guerrero shot the thin man in the hand, screamed like an animal. Chance dived in to grab Winston while Guerrero yelled, "Drop your weapons!" he stepped forward. "Put 'em on the floor, now! Drop 'em!"

The man stared at him through a haze of pain and anger, grabbing his book with his good hand, attempting to make a break for it.

"Stop, dude," Guerrero snapped. He didn't. Guerrero shot him.

"Drop them!" he yelled to the remaining men. With looks of terror on their faces, they did. "Smart," Guerrero said tersely. The real policemen began to move in, guns trained on the few men. As they did, Guerrero slowly backed up, watching Chance slip out the side door of the bank. He went around to Winston, picking his handcuffs. "We've got to get out of here," he told him in a low voice.

"Wait!" Winston protested, looking around. "Where's Chance?"

"That's it for chance, bro," Guerrero told him as the cuffs snapped.

"What are you talkin' about; whaddya mean?" Winston demanded.

"He's gone," Guerrero told him seriously. "Dude got too attached. That's the last you're ever gonna see of Chance. Come on." Guerrero knew that the worst had happened when the goons broke into Chance's hideout: they had hurt someone he cared about and he figured that if he didn't get close to anyone ever again, he'd keep everybody safe.

He was stupid that way sometimes, but you couldn't talk him out of it.

"Come on, Winston; let's get out of here." Guerrero said, helping him up, since he _did_ have a slug in his shoulder, and starting for the bank doors.

* * *

"Winston!" Cindy exclaimed from the backseat as the black man ponderously got in the front passenger's side. Guerrero climbed in the driver's side and pulled away from the hospital. "Are you okay?" she asked. "I'm glad you're back! I missed you!"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Winston said with a tired smile. "What's a bullet in the shoulder, anyway?"

"Oww," Cindy said sympathetically.

"Keep it in perspective, dude; you could have been blown to bits," Guerrero pointed out.

"Oh yeah, of course," Winston said sarcastically. "And does Chance stick around? No."  
"I already explained that bit to you, dude," Guerrero said, one hand on the wheel.

Cindy frowned and looked down. She wanted Chance back.

"Look, man, can you drop me off in the Tenderloin?" Winston asked. "I wanna clean some stuff up at the office."

"Sure thing," Guerrero said, turning. "Just call when you wanna leave."

Winston raised an eyebrow. "Just like that?"  
"Yeah," Guerrero said.

"I don't trust you when you act nice," Winston grumbled.

"I'm expecting tips and stuff, of course," Guerrero said.

"Yeah RIGHT," Winston said.

Cindy grinned. At least something was right. After they dropped Winston off, Guerrero said, "Well, looks like it's just you and me now, kid."  
Cindy guessed he was right.

* * *

For five months, Cindy lived over at Amanda's (Guerrero said it was too dangerous to stay at his place), went to school, saw Guerrero on the weekends, and generally did okay. She saw Winston once in a while, too; he wasn't very happy that he had to take a job as a detective to pay the bills. He disliked it mostly because all his customers were woman who wanted him to follow their spouses around to see if they were cheating.

But for the most part, life was doable.

Then one day, Guerrero didn't come over on Saturday to take her to the library.

"Where is he?" She asked Amanda.

"He called while you were playing with the neighbor boy," Amanda told her. "He said something about Chance coming back and taking a job, and he has to go to Europe, or something like that."

"Chance is back?" Cindy exclaimed happily. "Finally!"

* * *

**Reviews make me warm and fuzzy. :D  
**


	27. Chapter 26

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. I'm not making a profit or anything; entertainment purposes only. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**AN: new chapter! The next episode will get me into the Christmas season swing! Merry Christmas, just in case I don't post before then...I'm totally planning to, though, so don't freak out! :) enjoy.  
**

"Thanks for the ride, Amanda," Cindy said, hopping out of her car at the foot of Chance's building.

"No problem, kiddo," Amanda said. "Tell 'em hi for me."  
" 'Kay," Cindy said, smiling. She shut the door and hopped up the stairs to the elevator. She pressed the button to Chance's flat and waited impatiently until the elevator stopped and dinged as the doors swung open.

"Chance!" she said, running to the person she hadn't seen in five months. "I missed you!" she exclaimed, nearly tackling him.

He laughed and steadied her. "I missed you, too. Wow, you look a little taller, kiddo."

"Yeah," she said. "With any luck I'll leave 4'6" in the dust. Where were you?" she asked, pushing her wavy hair away from her face.

"In India, at an ashram."

"Oh," she said, frowning. "What's an ashram?"

He was about to try to explain when Winston and two women came into the room. "Who's that?" Cindy asked, staring at them.

"That's Mrs. Isla Pucci," Chance said, indicating the fashionable, smart –looking woman on the left, "and that's Ames," indicating the woman in her early twenties on the right, wearing casual clothes. Mrs. Pucci had curly short black hair, very tan skin, and an inquisitive, polite face. Ames had long reddish brown hair and a mischievous glint to her eyes. On the whole, Ames looked more agreeable.

"Do they need protecting?" Cindy asked.

"Not anymore; now Mrs. Pucci is going to be in charge. She redecorated the place," Chance said.

Cindy stepped back and looked around at the nice, pretty windows and modern furniture. "What was wrong with it before?" Cindy asked, puzzled.

Chance laughed out loud. "You are definitely your father's daughter."

Cindy grinned lopsidedly, but the two women looked equally confused.

"Is she your child, Mr. Chance?" Mrs. Pucci asked. She sounded European.

"Chance isn't my dad," Cindy said, laughing. That would be totally weird.

"Then who –"

"Hey, dude, the guns are all squared away upstairs," Guerrero said, coming down the staircase.

"Hey, dad," Cindy said, grinning. She hugged him.

Mrs. Pucci looked simply surprised, while Ames looked floored.

"Oh my –holy–," she stuttered, along with a bunch of worlds Cindy wasn't allowed to say, "You have a _kid?_" she exclaimed.

Guerrero raised an eyebrow, returning Cindy's hug. "It happens," he said nonchalantly.

"I missed you," Cindy said. "How was Europe?"

"Rainy," Guerrero said. "Go chase Carmine away from the gun rack he wants to slobber on." Cindy, knowing he was trying to get her out of the room, grinned wryly and went.

Guerrero turned to Ames. "You do know that if anyone finds out I have a kid, you'll end up dead in a dumpster somewhere?" While she was processing this, he amended, "Probably not a dumpster. I've got more class than that. Maybe in Ikea."

Her mouth shut tight and she made the motion of locking her lips and throwing away the key.

"Good," Guerrero said, turning away.

"Ikea?" Winston asked, giving him a weird look.

"There are so many places in there to hide bodies it's ridiculous," Guerrero said.

Cindy came back down the stairs, tugging Carmine along, who was casting longing looks back behind him. "Am I going to live with Chance again, or stay with Amanda?" she asked.

"We'll see," Guerrero said.

"This girl used to live with you?" Mrs. Pucci asked Chance. "What's your name, dear?"

"Cindy," she said, petting Carmine. "Don't worry about it. It's weird."

"You're tellin' me," Winston muttered.

"Hey, ma'am," Cindy asked, "When you redecorated, did you happen to stock up the freezer?" She looked at her hopefully. She was feeling ice cream and waffles.

"Oh…I believe so…" Mrs. Pucci said.

"Awesome," Cindy said, heading off to the kitchen.

"Who brought her here?" Ilsa asked, watching her go.

"Probably Amanda," Chance said absently, figuring out how to work the coffee maker. "Why does this come with a manual?" he asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"It's the best one I could find," Ilsa said, frowning. "About Cindy –"

"Ilsa," Chance said, giving her a look. "Best just to leave it.

She looked confused and flustered. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's not really…any of your business," Chance said, giving it to her straight.

"Chance!" Cindy yelled from the kitchen. "Ask um… I forget her name. But ask her if she can get chocolate chips sometime soon."

Chance turned a speculative eye on Ilsa. She blinked. "I'll see what I can do," she said, resigned.

* * *

Ames had a sweet tooth, apparently. She wandered into the kitchen (which already looked more homey with flour dusting the counters and appliances humming).

"Hey," she said, standing in the doorway with her hands in her pockets.

Cindy was dragging a chair over to get at the top cupboards. "Hi," she said, clambering up and snatching the measuring cups. "Why don't adults put things at reasonable heights?" she mumbled to herself.

"So…you're Guerrero's kid?" Ames asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

"Yep," Cindy said. "Who're you?" She stared at Ames.

"Ames," the young woman said. "Thief. 'Til now, I guess. Don't really know what I am, exactly now."

"That happens a lot," Cindy reassured her. "How'd you meet Chance?"

"Umm…" Ames said. "It's kind of a long story…"

"That happens too," Cindy said, mixing up waffle batter. "Do you like waffles?"

"Heck yeah."

"Okay," Cindy said, stirring. "So are you going to be working with Chance and everybody?"

"Um…I guess… Mrs. Pucci doesn't really like me, though."

Cindy looked at her through her hair. "Why does that matter?"

"Well, she's in charge…" Ames said, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"But Chance is the one who does the saving, so that shouldn't matter," Cindy said, with her childlike logic, stirring vigorously. "Hey, can you check under the sink to see if the waffle iron is still there?" She glanced at the bowl of batter. "We're going to have a problem if it's not."

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**Reviews make me warm and fuzzy. :D  
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	28. Chapter 27

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. I'm not making a profit or anything; entertainment purposes only. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**AN: Tada! See? Another post. I AM good :D**** [Timeline wise… I know when I started the story it was about Septemberish…and now it's probably late November/early December {since the Christmas episode is next} but I guess we'll go with the fact that Chance wasn't gone as long as the series said. 'Kay? Kay. Thanks.]**

**AN2: For this chapter, and the next couple, I'm doing snippets of some of the episodes and sticking Cindy in with originalness. I know some people thought it went kinda slow when i tried to do the whole episode, and honestly I don't want to do it, but we'll see how this goes. Tell me what you think, please! ...And...I can't remember whether I actually gave Cindy her glasses. so yeah. if I did, please tell me and I'll fix things.  
**

The waffle iron was, in fact, there, and Cindy made up a large batch of waffles for the enlarged gang –there was even enough for Carmine. The little girl studiously ignored the curious gazes from Ames (what kind of a name was that, anyway?), and the slight frowns from…oh…what was her name? The lady who redecorated. It sort of sounded like 'purse'… oh. Pucci! Like Gucci. Right. Now she was whispering something to Chance. But Cindy had very good ears, so she heard. Probably everyone else did, too, except maybe Ames, who was staring avidly at the television. Minute to Win It was on.

"This line of work is no place for a child," Mrs. Pucci-not-Gucci said in a faux subtle way to Chance.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Why not?"

"Well…because…it's dangerous, and she could get hurt!" the woman said, her dark eyes wide. Cindy frowned into her waffle. She didn't appreciate the busybodyness, but she figured that Mrs. Pucci _did_ mean well. She cared, anyway. And not very many people had done that over the years.

"It's dangerous for her _not_ to be here," Chance said out of the corner of his mouth. "And like I said before, Ilsa…it's not really any of your business."

"Well, if she's staying here, it is!" They weren't whispering anymore.

"It's really not," Chance said, a pragmatic look on his face. "The deed is still in my name, so it's fine if she stays here. I don't think she's gonna, though. It's worked out fine so far. And really, if you want to talk about this anymore, you should be talking to Guerrero."

Ilsa looked over at the man doing things on his phone that no one could figure out. He could be arranging things and getting dirt on someone halfway around the world, or he could be playing a game on his iphone. Cindy was betting on the latter –he had a thing for Solitaire and Snake. She smiled secretly.

"Alright," Ilsa finally said. "I'll take your word for it." Cindy noted she still didn't want to bring it up with Guerrero. _Wise move,_ Cindy thought. _My dad can be pretty scary when he wants to be._ She'd have to get him to teach her how to do that sometime.

* * *

"Aww, c–" Winston cut himself off, remembering Cindy was in the room. He sighed and pulled out the huge manual for the computer. "Any idea how one would scan a photo into this fancy, expensive computer Ilsa bought us?" he mumbled. "Look at this thing."

Cindy came over and looked, though the rhetorical comment probably wasn't meant for her.

"I wonder if there's a manual for the manual," Winston said irritably, flipping through the book.

Cindy leaned over his shoulder and tapped on a button. A set of password recognizers came up, and she typed in the correct username and password.

"Hey, how'd you –" Winston asked, as a rectangle appeared on the table.

"It had a photo icon on it," Cindy said amiably. "And Chance's username is herocomplex44, password ENIMRAC. Carmine backwards."

Chance raised an eyebrow at her. "Really?"

She nodded.

"How many other people's passwords do you know?"

"Everybody's. Except Dad's," she said, rather disappointedly. "He changes them all the time."

"How very Guerrero," Winston said, scanning the picture into the computer.

Chance looked over her head to Winston. "You know what I think?"

"That this woman isn't very dangerous, since she's an economic professor?" Winston said, pulling up her accounts.

"No, I –economics?" Chance said, put off his train of thought.

"Yep," Winston said. "Husband too."

"Not exactly life threatening," Chance said.

"Isn't economics money?" Cindy asked, elbows on the table, staring at the screen.

"It's the study of money, in a nutshell," Winston said. "Okay, she's got some social sites, networking, dating… ugh. Not for me," he winced. "I got my dates the old fashioned way."

"Pay for it?" Guerrero asked, coming in with a carton of Chinese and a pair of chopsticks. He was wearing the vest Cindy had gotten for him last father's day, and she felt rather gratified that he was wearing it, since he had professed he didn't care about holidays and presents and what-have-you. Amanda had helped her pick it out, and it had pretty much maxed out all of what she had saved since the previous March.

Winston shot him a look that clearly said don't-you-remember-that-your-kid-is-in-the-room and replied, "_Church."_

Guerrero ran into the chair before getting to the screen. Really close to the screen. "Who's the dude?"

"You're drunk," Winston said in an accusatory tone.

"You aren't wearing your glasses," Chance said, hitting upon the right answer.

"Fell into a meat grinder," Guerrero said. Cindy rolled her eyes. Boy, was _that_ ever a mess. "Spares won't come in until tomorrow. But Cindy's did," he said.

All eyes turned to her. "Well, come on, let's see 'em," Chance said, grinning.

She pulled the glasses out of her pocket and placed them on her nose. They were blue and sparkly, with rectangular lenses. "They're just for reading, mostly," she said, smiling shyly.

"They look good on you," Chance said. Cindy grinned and picked up her new book.

* * *

"Obviously, I can't drive the Eldo in this condition. Who's gonna take me to see Donnelly?"

"See?" Cindy said emphatically. "Told you that you should've taught me how to drive."

"Your feet can't reach the pedals yet," Guerrero said.

"Can so!"

"Have you tried?"

"Yes! –I mean…" Cindy hastily backpedaled. "Um. That is…"

"You don't get to drive for a few more years," Guerrero said firmly.

"Phooey," Cindy said.

Winston was smiling like the cat that just ate the canary. "Let me make a call," he said, punching numbers into his phone.

"Ames? Why does Ames get to drive?" Cindy demanded. "If she gets to drive, I get to come."

"Hold up, dude," Guerrero said. "No way."

"Oh!" Chance said. "That reminded me." Everyone looked at him. Guerrero squinted to get him into focus. "Cindy's got a fantastic memory. Maybe even photographic."

Now everyone stared at Cindy. "I –no, I forget tons of stuff!" She said, confused.

"You remember important things," Chance said. "My password, the sound of Ames's phone number, how to get places…" he trailed off. "You remember the right things."

Silence. Then, "If I'm useful, can I come?" Cindy asked hopefully.

"No," Guerrero said.

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**Reviews make me warm and fuzzy. :D  
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	29. Chapter 28

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. I'm not making a profit or anything; entertainment purposes only. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**AN: yay! Hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas, and I hope y'all have a happy new year! 2011 people! :D review!  
**

Cindy listened in on the com link with Winston as Chance infiltrated the goons' hideout as "Chicago" in order to get Ames outta there. Then the elevator dinged and Winston hurriedly moved the info off the big screen and Cindy dove for her book as Mrs. Pucci not Gucci walked into the room.

_Oh boy,_ Cindy thought, pretending to read. _Here we go._

"Ilsa…we did some recon on Ames, and it led us down a rabbit hole…"

"Meaning what, exactly?" her voice was sharp.

"Meaning…she and some accomplices are planning to hit the museum," Winston said, very fast.

"Hit? You mean steal the diamonds?"

_Yeah, that's what hit means!_ Cindy thought.

"Well, we have to call the police!"

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Winston said.

Mrs. Pucci stared. "Well, you realize that would make us accessories? We'd be complicit, after the fact aiding and abetting -"

"A felony," Winston finished. "Yes. But the only way we're gonna get Ames and her friend out alive is to go through with it and get the guy behind it."

"And how are we going to do that? Chance is with her isn't he?" Ilsa said, putting two and two together. She rapped on the table. "Chance? This is Ilsa. Can you hear me?" she said loudly.

"Could you lower your voice while I still have some hearing left?" he mumbled.

"Oh. Sorry," she apologized. "Let the girl go," she commanded strongly. "She's betrayed us."

Cindy abandoned all pretense of reading and looked up, shocked. "That's _mean,_" she said, outraged.

"Ilsa, we can't pull out now. If we do, she's dead." Winston's look was very grave.

The woman turned and looked at him with a surprised look on her face.

_What did you think would happen?_ Cindy wondered.

"Really," Winston said. "It'll be fine. We're all professionals."

The elevator dinged. "Yo!" Guerrero said. "Can somebody grab my battery? It's in the elevator."

Cindy craned her neck, spotted the dude on the wheely thing and wisely said nothing.

"I could also use a bucket of water." The sight of Ilsa storming toward him didn't faze Guerrero. "Oh, hi boss. Nice dress," he said, scanning it.

"What are you doing?" Ilsa demanded. "Are you torturing that man?"

Guerrero raised an eyebrow. "Well, not yet."

She started sputtering gobblety gook about her boards and her charities and her non-violence-ness. Cindy put her book down to go watch.

"Uh," Guerrero said, rolling his eyes, "it kinda defeats the purpose of a hood if you tell them where we are."

A tense, stuttering conversation about police and the merits thereof began, and Ilsa grabbed the phone beginning to dial. "Hello? Police?"

Meanwhile, Chicago –probably, anyway –managed to get free.

"Dad, dodge left!" Cindy screamed when she saw him get free. Guerrero managed to dodge and escaped most of the force of the metal bar, but still went through a glass wall. _Why on earth did we need a glass wall, anyway?_ Cindy wondered absently, as she tried to move out of the way.

Guerrero and Winston became a massive two-man takedown squad, working to subdue Chicago, Ilsa was still gasping and shrieking into the phone, and Cindy dodged out of the way of flying glass shards, trying to get to the desk where Chance hid a handgun in the secret drawer.

_Where's the catch, where is it? _Cindy thought frantically, searching with her fingers for something she'd never had the occasion to press. _Aha!_ She thought as the cherry wood gave. Grabbing the gun from its hiding spot (a Walther P99, 9mm), she pushed the safety off and fired it into the ceiling. She knew she could, since Ilsa had not thought about looking up when instructing the remodelers, and consequently missed the bullet holes in the ceiling, so a) it had been done before and thus far had not compromised the structural integrity of the building, and b) a variety of people, Amanda and Guerrero most predominantly, had instructed her how to use a gun and then very vehemently commanded her never to do so unless it was an emergency. She figured this constituted.

The sound and recoil into her arm shocked her, and she stepped back to catch her balance. The noise distracted Chicago long enough for Ilsa, having hung up the phone, to slam a briefcase over his head. Everyone took a deep breath and relaxed.

"Are you okay?" Winston demanded of Ilsa. She nodded.

"One way to pick a lock, I guess," Guerrero said, coming over and taking the gun from Cindy, who handed it over, relieved. "Chance has only opened that catch once since you've been here," Guerrero said, interested even though blood trickled down his forehead. "Guess you do have a super-memory." He went to re-secure Chicago, who had trashed pretty much every piece of glass in range.

"This ain't the gun of a getaway driver," Winston said, inspecting Chicago's weapon.

"My guess he's the cleaner," Guerrero said, busily tying him up again

"What's a cleaner?" Ilsa asked.

"The one who takes care of all the loose ends," Winston said cryptically. Ilsa stared at him. "He kills people when the job is done. Or during," he added.

"Better call Chance, then," Cindy reminded him.

"Right."

* * *

"Dudes, check it out –apology from Mr. Chicago," Guerrero said, toting a bottle into the room and taking a seat. Apology for the condition he left the van in.

"I don't even want to know. What'd he bring us?" Winston asked.

"Forty year scotch. Classy move. Was the right thing to do…considering," Guerrero said, pouring the scotch.

"Oh, that's good," Winston croaked, taking a sip.

Cindy watched all this from her vantage point on the couch. But then, drinks weren't all that exciting, so she went back to the movie playing on the TV. It was on the Syfy channel, called _Alice, _and so far, it was really awesome. And she hadn't even been watching it for that long.

Ames came in an apologized very nicely, in Cindy's eyes, anyway. She started to walk away, the movie broke for a commercial, and Chance asked, "Do you drink scotch?"

Guerrero muttered something Cindy couldn't hear, whereas Ames replied, "That's all I drink."

"Have a seat," Chance said, pouring her a glass. And then Mrs. Pucci came in, looking disapproving. Cindy braced for a yelling match (which was what she was used to when people disappointed or got things wrong) but that didn't happen. It boiled down to Ames was loyal, and they let it drop. _What does 'inveterate' mean?_ Cindy wondered, coming over.

"What does scotch taste like?" she asked, leaning against Guerrero.

"Try it and see," he said, handing her the glass. "Since we're letting just anyone drink."

"Whoa!" Winston said. "Hold up. She's a minor. That's illegal."

He raised an eyebrow. "And that's a problem because…"

Cindy stared at the amberish colored liquid in the glass and sniffed. It smelled…strong. Like alcohol –the rubbing kind. And rubbing alcohol made her think of fingernail polish remover, which in turn lead her to make a face. She had once put her hand in her mouth after using polish remover –the taste was very, very bad.

"Well, are you going to taste it or not?" Guerrero asked. " 'Cause I'd like my glass back sometime this year."

Cindy cautiously tilted the glass and sipped.

Oh.

Oh dear.

This was nasty!

She handed the glass off and went to the kitchen to rinse out her mouth, spitting into the sink. Eww eww eww. Gross. Never again. ICK!

She could hear laughter behind her, but she resolved –never again. Nothing doing. Absolutely nothing could induce her to imbibe that stuff. It was disgusting.

"You can stop laughing and start thanking me," Guerrero said as Cindy came back out with a Dr. Pepper in her hands.

"Why's that?" Ilsa asked.

"I've cured the world of one alcoholic."

Cindy shuddered at the scotch bottle and took a long swig of her soda.

That was more like it.

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**Reviews make me warm and fuzzy. :D  
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	30. Chapter 29

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. I'm not making a profit or anything; entertainment purposes only. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**AN: This may be late and unedited, but it's long. YES! One cuss word -warning.  
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They were having a discussion.

A loud discussion.

Cindy couldn't help overhearing it, really. It consisted of a whole lot of 'no's.

Really emphatic 'no's.

"Dude. **No**. I mean seriously. This guy's a bad egg; you can't trust him," Guerrero said, coming onto the scene between Ilsa, Chance, and Winston. His expression conveyed exactly what he thought –that Chance was being an idiot for even considering it.

"You see what's happening? _We_ agree," Winston said pointedly. Everyone in the room knew just how odd _that_ was. "Now imagine how this makes _me_ feel."

"Oh, and you think I'm happy about this?" Chance asked. "I didn't want to have anything to do with him, but the lady wants her friend back and I'm out of ideas. Do you have any? 'Cause I'd like to hear 'em." His face was set in a frown, mouth in a tight line.

"Will someone _please_ tell me what's going on here?" Ilsa asked.

Cindy came up, staring at Chance. "Are you talking about Baptiste?" she asked.

"Um…yes," Chance said ruefully.

"Thought so," she muttered, not really sure how she felt about getting help from a very bad dude that had threatened her indirectly.

They explained things more thoroughly to Ilsa, and she said, "Okay, so the only person who can help rescue Susan is a professional killer you neither like nor trust who once threatened Cindy and is now rotting in some Siberian prison somewhere, and these two think you're completely crazy for even suggesting it? Is that a vaguely accurate picture of what we're talking about here?" She sounded just a bit hysterical, but her eyes were hard.

Everyone exchanged glances, and decided on the affirmative. Guerrero tilted his head to the side, looking expectantly at Chance.

"Oh," Chance added. "Last time I saw him, we tried to kill each other."

"Do it. Whatever it takes. We have to get Susan out of there alive," Ilsa said decidedly, and they began to go make plans. Cindy noticed Guerrero take Chance aside a minute or two later, but didn't hear what he said.

* * *

"Dude," Guerrero said. "Not cool."

Chance frowned. Guerrero wasn't necessarily verbose on most occasions, but now he was downright terse. "We haven't got any other options."

"I know."

"So…" Chance said.

Guerrero frowned, and though Chance was taller, he felt unsafe. "We both know he wants out."

"Yeah, but he isn't getting out," Chance said. "I'm not taking him out of that icebox."

"Things happen, dude. If he gets out of sight and comes after her, I'm taking him down." His eyes were hard, and Chance had no doubt that Guerrero meant exactly what he said. The guy was ruthless when it came right down to the things he cared about. And so far as Chance knew, that small group consisted of Cindy (plus his phone and computer). And he'd go as far as he needed to go to keep them safe.

"Ah," Chance said, understanding.

"I know you still sort of have some buried friendship/loyalty thing going for the guy. So don't let him get free," Guerrero said. "Or bad stuff is going down."

"I won't," Chance promised.

"Cool," Guerrero said.

Chance watched him go. That man was one of his best friends, and one of the strangest people he knew, if not one of the most secretive, but he could say without a doubt –he was protective above all else.

* * *

"What on earth are you doing to my conference room?" Ilsa demanded, staring at the machinery and technological mess on the floor.

Guerrero inspected his handiwork, and Cindy handed him a wrench. "Does she really need to know, or is this one of those things it's better off if she doesn't?"

Winston held in a strong urge to roll his eyes. He coughed. "It's hardware that allows us to piggy back on a military spy satellite so we can keep an eye on Chance and Baptiste."

Guerrero mumbled, "I told him. Told him Baptiste was going to get out. But did he believe me? No." He rolled his eyes, looking irritated.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say that's illegal," Ilsa said. She wasn't happy, Cindy could tell.

"Extremely," Guerrero said from the floor. "Cindy, tell me when the computer boots up."

Cindy leaned over the table to stare at it. "Nothing yet."

"Keep watching," Guerrero said, doing something clever with wires.

The elevator dinged, and some guy in a blue military suit stepped out. "I'm guessing that's _not_ the mailman," Cindy said.  
"That's the Captain from the defense department," Ilsa said. "I've been on the phone with him. Be with you in a minute!" she called. Guerrero raised an eyebrow and Cindy stood conveniently in front of the mess of wires and equipment.

"I'd better come too," Winston said.

"Why?"  
"_Highly illegal satellite setup, Chance on ground with fugitive assassin_? We need to make sure this goes _very carefully_," Winston said out of the corner of his mouth.

"I once sat at a poker table with the best in the world," Ilsa said confidently. "Rummy still owes me a thousand bucks." A flirtatious smirk covered her face, and she walked toward her office with a swing in her step.

"Damn good poker face," Guerrero said, impressed in spite of himself.

"The KID," Winston said.

"Darn good poker face," Guerrero corrected himself.

Cindy giggled.

* * *

While Winston and Ilsa were beating their heads against the wall trying to figure out a way to get Chance a getaway, Guerrero was working –rewiring, changing circuitry, and occasionally, kicking the contraption.

"What're you doing?" Winston asked, finally paying attention. "I tried that an hour ago; it doesn't work."

Guerrero held up a finger and plugged in the last wire. The screens faded to black and then the words "system initializing" appeared in blue as dots filled up, loading the satellite images. "You loosened the lid for me," Guerrero said smugly to Winston. Hopping up, he went to the screens, saying, "If Chance still ahs his phone, the satellite should be locked in on him." With a few taps, he zoomed in. "Right there."

"_What _are they doing?" Winston asked in confusion, staring at the screen.

Guerrero tilted his head to the side. "Well, it appears they're duking it out right in the middle of a bar." A muscle in his jaw worked. _Chance had better have a handle on this._

"I assume this doesn't bode well for Susan's rescue," Ilsa said despairingly.

"Zoom out, would you?" Winston asked.

Guerrero did so, tapping on the touch keyboard on the table he was sitting on, and the picture accordingly zoomed out to reveal the exterior building, street, and two trucks that just pulled up and unloaded men.

"What's that?" Ilsa asked.

"That is a problem," Guerrero replied.

"I've gotta call Chance," Winston said anxiously. Dialing, he muttered, "C'mon, answer the phone. Answer!"

It rang four times and went to voicemail.

"Wonderful," Guerrero said sarcastically.

_15 minutes later_

"Where are they?" Ilsa asked, pacing back and forth around the conference room.

"I don't know. I got no signal to lock on to, man," Guerrero said, glaring at the keyboard. "He must have lost his phone." The screens were of the same last image they had.

"How do we find him?" Ilsa asked.

"Uh, we don't," Winston said darkly. "No signal to latch onto. Every minute it takes to find him could be a minute we need to get that plane off the ground."

"So we just leave them there?" Ilsa questioned, shocked.

"I don't like it any more than you," Winston said, "But right now, getting that plane free is our top priority for getting them outta there alive."

"Yeah, assuming they're not dead already," Guerrero muttered cynically.

"Hey!" Winston barked, casting a glance at the shocked Ilsa and the wide-eyed Cindy.

"What?" Guerrero asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just sayin'."

Cindy hugged her knees to her chest and watched the screens. In his own way, her father was rather comforting with his pessimism. She secretly suspected that inwardly, he liked being proven wrong.

* * *

"Dude, no way," Guerrero said as the three adults discussed plans with Cindy listening in.

"Why not?" Winston demanded. "It's a simple Norma Jean."

"First off, there's no such thing as a simple Norma Jean, alright?" Guerrero said. "When a Norma Jean goes bad, it goes real bad. A Norma jean went bad on my cousin Pat. She ended up pregnant with twins."

"Well, you got a better idea?" Winston asked, tight lipped, while Cindy thought, _I have other relatives?_ This was definitely new information.

"Yeah; let's call that Ames broad," Guerrero said. It was the first time he had actually called her by name.

"She went back east," Ilsa said, "to clear her head after the heist debacle."

"Fine. Then I'll go."

"And do what?" Winston asked incredulously. "Put a gun to Harmon's head?"

"What's wrong with putting a gun to someone's head?"

"Your kid is in the room," Winston snapped.

"Cindy," Guerrero said, half turning around.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know. On my list of 'don'ts' for life."

* * *

Cindy was just a tiny bit miffed that she wasn't allowed to come along with _anyone _to do the Norma Jean. So she was messing with the huge computer in the conference room, seeing if she could lock onto the plane's computer in Paraguay. Or technically, the air, because by now they _had_ to have gotten out of there. Maybe Chance brought his laptop?

She accessed the computer interface and checked to see if his Internet card was up and running. It was. And what do you know –Skype was open. She was accepted.

Chance's slightly scraped up face appeared on screen as the webcam lit up on the touch screen table. "Hi Chance!" Cindy said.

"Hey!" he said.

"How'd it go?"  
"Well, we got Susan back," he said, motioning toward the woman sitting on the comfy plane chairs behind him, napping.

"Good, it worked," she said. Then the distinct cock of a gun was heard.

"Ah, Cindy, could you gimme a minute?" Chance asked, holding up a hand. She stared interestedly at the computer as a rather intriguing drama spilled out. And just in case, she pressed record. "I think we both know you're not gonna shoot me," Chance said. The man holding the gun, whom Cindy could just barely see –turned the weapon to the side on someone else. "Oh, come on," Chance said.

The man was dark-skinned, with an English or European accent, wearing a white shirt and in need of a shave. His eyes were hard and impersonal, for the most part. "Let's discuss what's gonna happen next," he said. "I'm gonna enjoy a glass of my favorite cognac. You're going to tell the pilot to divert to Caracas. Once we land, I'll walk out." Direct, logical, and firm –he wasn't one to go off crazy and emotional, but took calculated risks. He looked like a gambler.

No way to know for sure, but he didn't look like the vindictive type. She knew the vindictive type.  
"I think you know I can't let that happen," Chance said calmly, his back to the camera, cutting of the webcam so that all Cindy could see was the back of his jacket. She inwardly fumed. She didn't get to go on the Norma Jean, and now she didn't even get to see Chance take someone down!

"Be that as it may…" a disembodied voice said. "_Salud." [Health]_

And then Chance offered him an opportunity to join the team. Cindy couldn't believe what she was hearing. But from what Chance said, it sounded like Baptiste was Chance before Katherine Walters.

Which meant he could change.

Baptiste started laughing after a few seconds of silence, and said, "Ketamine in the cognac."  
"Figured you couldn't resist. Sorry but I was frank about my intentions. I got to take you back where I got you." Chance moved out of the webcam's way to reveal Baptiste slumped in a chair.

"That's very clever," Baptiste wheezed. "Man, I really missed you." He slumped.

After a second to ensure he wasn't faking, Chance turned back to the computer, smiling. "Still there, Cindy?" he asked.

"Yep," She said. "Wow."

"Wow what?"

"I kept picturing this big scary evil assassin," she said slowly.

"Well, the bigger they are, the harder they fall," Chance joked.

She shook her head. "No. I get it now. He's just…a man."

* * *

The elevator doors dinged in time with the pop of the hardware Guerrero was disassembling on the floor.

"Do I even want to know?" Chance asked.

"Probably not," Guerrero said, peering through his glasses at the circuits.

"Where's Cindy?" Chance asked.

"At Amanda's." Guerrero caught the understanding nod. "So what happened with Baptiste?"

"I offered him a job."  
"Dude, seriously?" Guerrero asked, turning and looking at him. "I don't have to put up with enough around here?"

"He turned it down," Chance said, chuckling.

"At least there's still a little integrity left among criminals," he said, turning back to his work. If Baptiste had gone straight, the world probably would have ended then and there. "So where is he?" Guerrero asked, with a little danger in his tone.

"Well, let's see –right about now should be chow time in Siberia," Chance said, inspecting an object he held.

Guerrero caught sight of the watch and grinned. "Bet he didn't want to part with that."

Chance tossed it up and caught it again. "So. How'd you convince the Paraguayan army to let us on the plane?"  
"Norma Jean," Guerrero said nonchalantly.

"It's impossible," Chance said immediately. "You can't bluff a Norma Jean with just two guys."

"They had some help," Ilsa Pucci said, coming around the corner in a slick black dress.

Guerrero raised his eyebrows, and Chance said, "Are you serious? I'm gone two days and she's out in the field?"

Guerrero picked himself up off the floor and said, "Not my call, dude." He glanced to the mess of wires and electronics on the floor. "I'll clean that later." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he headed off.

* * *

Cindy woke up around eleven from the sound of heated words. Staring blearily at the clock, she put her glasses on her nose and blinked. Things were getting pretty loud in the apartment. She could hear Jerry's distinctive baritone voice yelling at Amanda. She was yelling back and telling him to get out.

Something broke.

Cindy rolled out of bed and grabbed her cell phone, waking it up and dialing pretty much the only number in there.

"Dad?" she whispered when the ringing stopped and the other line picked up.

"Hey, kid," Guerrero said drowsily. "Any reason why you're calling me right now?"

"Are you asleep?" Cindy asked.

"Well, obviously not now," he said, sounding a little more awake.

"Can you come over?" Cindy whispered, flinching as something else broke. "I think… Amanda needs some back-up."

"Okay," Guerrero said, and Cindy heard the sound of movement down the line. "Give me the scoop on this scum bag."

"His names Jerry…Cordova, I think. He works for that huge club downtown. He's a bouncer."

"Pulse?" Guerrero asked.

"Yeah," she said. "And you know the scotch bottle?"

"Yep?"

"He smells like that."

"Drunk as a skunk. Hang tight, kid."  
"Okay," she said as he hung up.

* * *

Amanda Drummond wondered how on earth she could have ever liked this guy. Jerry Cordova was cute, admittedly. Square jaw, nice build, and wavy black hair –great looks. Not so much when it came to personality. He had a tendency to drink, and a tendency to throw his weight around. And his irritable temper became downright inflammatory when you tossed the two together.

Which was what had happened, judging from the shards of glass scattered over the floor, the remnants of the glass he had thrown at the wall. There was a stain on the paint right by her head. It was a good thing she had fast reflexes. "Calm down," she said in a strong, no-nonsense voice. She had tried pacifying, she had tried, pleading, anything to get him to shut up and go. Hadn't worked. Now she was running out of options. The door to the hall was firmly closed and locked; there wasn't any way he was getting to the rest of the rooms besides the kitchen and living room. He was contained, at least.

He hadn't taken her breakup news that well.

Her doorbell rang, and Jerry responded with a string of obscenities as long as her arm. Amanda made a beeline for the door and threw the deadbolt back, ducking another flying object. _Should've just called. Texted. Heck, changing apartments after this would be totally fine,_ she thought to herself, pulling open the door and feeling relief flood through her veins at the slightly sleepy, glasses-rimmed, Guerrero.

"Heard you need some backup," he said by way of an explanation. He raised his eyebrows at the drunken curses coming from the apartment. It seemed that Jerry ahd moved to the kitchen. Great, more things for him to break.

"Yeah," she said shortly, opening the door for the shorter man. "Watch for flying objects." He stepped in. "My fault. I broke up with him."

"Before or after the scotch?" Guerrero asked.

"After," she winced. "Didn't know when I asked him to come over he was smashed."

"I'll take care of it," he said.

The brunette raised her eyebrow. "I –"

"Seriously," he said. "And don't thank me." He raised his eyebrows.

Amanda said, "I'll check on Cindy," and snapped her slightly gaping mouth shut. Guerrero headed into the kitchen, and Amanda unlocked the hall door and ducked through it. Closing it back, she almost jumped out of her skin when the girl appeared silently by her side in green dragon pajamas.

"Is dad here?" Cindy asked.

"Yeah," Amanda said, relaxing.

"Okay," Cindy said, satisfied, like she knew Guerrero would handle things. And Amanda figured he probably would.

* * *

Guerrero pulled the man's head from the full kitchen sink for the third time. "Sober yet?" he asked.

The man sputtered and coughed blindly, flailing around.

"Obviously not," Guerrero muttered, shoving his head under again. The water churned with bubbles, but with some leverage, Guerrero held the man of considerable more bulk under the water. After a while, he pulled him back up. "Now?" he asked.

No more wildly pumping arms, just coughing.

"Okay," Guerrero said, shoving him into a chair. "Listen up, Jerry Daniel Cordova, born in Olympia, Washington." The guy flashed him a totally confused look as he tried to regain his breath. "You are not going to come to this apartment, or see Amanda Drummond, ever again. And before you respond, I'll remind you of that little debacle in '03 that you escaped jail time for. Not to mention that little drug problem you had scrubbed from your record? Yeah, that can show right up again just like that." He raised his eyebrows, flattening his mouth out into a line. "And we won't go into the whole matter of the underage kids you've been letting into the club you work at for a bribe."

The guy stared at him opened mouth and not just a little fear in his eyes.

"We cool?" Guerrero asked.

The guy nodded rapidly, throwing water into the air, kind of like a dog.

"Good. Stand up and keep quiet."

He did so, hesitantly. Then he went down with a fist to the jaw, out cold.

"That was gratuitous," Guerrero said. He had just really wanted to do that.

* * *

"Come on out," Amanda heard. Amanda unlocked the door and came into the room with Cindy right behind her. Guerrero was dragging out Jerry by a very uncomfortable hold, but he couldn't feel it since he was unconscious. "Situation handled," Guerrero said. "Don't have to worry about him anymore."

"Cool," Cindy said. "I didn't like him."

"I didn't either," Amanda said, after thinking it over. "I'm pretty stupid," she mumbled, angry with herself, thinking of all the bruises she had gotten from him.

"No argument there," Guerrero said flippantly, hauling the dead weight out the door. It made both Amanda and Cindy laugh, and the self-loathing dissolved. "I'll get rid of him," Guerrero said.

"Are you still coming tomorrow?" Cindy asked. She wanted to go see the new Narnia movie, and the monthly movie date was set for tomorrow.

"Yep. Go to bed," Guerrero said from the doorway.

Cindy giggled and went back to her room.

"I know you told me not to thank you, but is there something else I can do?" Amanda asked, biting her lip. This was a big deal to her, and …even if he would take her thanks, it didn't seem like that would suffice.

Guerrero looked up and blinked. "You can grab his feet and help me get him down the stairs," he said after a minute.

"Okay," she agreed readily, grabbing her very much ex's feet and lifting. That would do.

* * *

**Reviews make me warm and fuzzy. :D And you get a cyber hug if you spot the very obscure 80's TV show reference. (I gave you a hint). I don't expect you to, though :)  
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	31. Chapter 30

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. I'm not making a profit or anything; entertainment purposes only. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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**AN: I didn't expect you to get it. TV show: Sledge Hammer! It was a really obscure reference, plus I'm a nerd. Also- just expect updates when you get them from now on. School is crazy. Y'all are awesome, though.**

Cindy was doing her math homework in the conference room after Amanda dropped her off from school. She was interviewing for a new job –singing someplace. She had a good voice; it was a good idea. Cindy perched on a chair sitting on her feet. She glanced at her notes, and then multiplied Length times width times height, boxing her answer. Moving on to the next problem, she frowned at her math homework, deep in thought about how to get 'x' by itself. What was with all these letters? She thought she was doing math! Any more letters and she'd have as much trouble with math as she did with English!

Mrs. Pucci dashed in looking frazzled and afraid. "There are crooked policemen that are forcing the elevator and Chance says we have to get out!"

"Why aren't you wearing shoes?" Cindy asked. _This must be about JD,_ she thought, using Ames' nickname for the guy.

"We have to get on top of the elevator!" Mrs. Pucci said, ignoring the question.

Cindy, who was wearing sneakers, didn't have to take her shoes off to shimmy through the helpful little hatch in the wall on the second floor that connected to the elevator shaft. Cindy eased the hatch shut and locked it as the men dispersed through the loft, and then the elevator started its downward decent.

Mrs. Pucci pried away the hatch in the ceiling and tossed her clutch purse down. "Just jump," Cindy advised. "Grab the thing across and swing down on the thing and don't hit the thing in the elevator."

"How specific," Mrs. Pucci mumbled, jumping and swinging. Cindy followed.

"Don't go out the front," she said. "They probably have cops and stuff. Take the alley route."

The two of them went around to the back of the building and began traveling. Cindy had to get Mrs. Pucci to stop trying to jog without her shoes. "Just walk fast," Cindy said. "Jogging looks suspicious."

"I have to call Mr. Chance," Mrs. Pucci said, pulling her cell phone out of her clutch purse and dialing. "We're out," she said. "Now what?" She nodded and then said, "Okay," hanging up. "Umm…" she said, looking at Cindy. "How do we get to a bus station? Your father will pick us up there."

Cindy grinned happily. "This way," she said, holding Mrs. Pucci's hand and guiding her down the alley. "Okay, I'm gonna teach you how to act if we see anyone. You gotta do the nod."

"The what?"

"The nod," Cindy repeated, brushing some of her dirty blond hair out of her face. "If you act cool and do the nod, we won't be bothered and nobody will ask about your feet."

Mrs. Pucci's eyebrows came together, thinking. "How do you do this nod?" she asked. "Like this?" She nodded to some nonexistent person, and Cindy winced.

"You look like an employer nodding to a servant to carry on," Cindy said. "Okay. First, you raise your eyebrows. Not that much!" she corrected, as Ilsa's thin black brows nearly made orbit. "Just a little bit. Like when Chance says something weird and you go, 'excuse me?' Except not quizzical looking." That was better. "Okay. Now you don't turn your head and look at the person. Just move your eyes in their direction and nod up, not down. Like a chin jerk up. Except not like you're having a muscle spasm." Cindy frowned and watched Ilsa as she tried it. "The eyebrows should go up as your chin goes up."

Mrs. Pucci looked singularly awkward.

"We'll work on it," Cindy said, moving toward the real street to find a metro bus station.

* * *

She had to admit, the hobo was getting to be pretty creepy. But she was playing it cool. Ilsa, on the other hand, was just looking stiff. She had told her to play a game on her phone and ignore everyone else, but Ilsa said she didn't have games. Who didn't have games on their phone?

So yeah, it was totally boring and creepy until the Eldo pulled up. "Get in," he told her and Ilsa, the latter making a dive for the car before the hobo followed. Cindy climbed in the back.

"Took you long enough," Ilsa muttered, buckling her seatbelt. Cindy did the same.

"I'm taking you someplace safe til this thing blows over," Guerrero said as he pulled away from the curb.

"Me, or Cindy?" Ilsa asked.

"Both," he said.

"Well, I'll need some things," Ilsa said, glancing down at her feet. "Shoes, for starters.

"No, no, I don't think you're fully grasping your situation here," Guerrero said, eyes on the road. "You use a credit card, ATM, you flash your ID –that's like sending up a flare."

Ilsa frowned. "No credit cards?"

"What did I tell you? Cash is king," Guerrero said. He glanced over at her. "Great I suppose I'm gonna have to float you a loan now."

Cindy was trying hard to keep from laughing. Right now she was biting her lips and trying to think of sad things, but it wasn't working. She thought she might be turning purple.

"You can stop laughing because you're going to Amanda's, kid."

"Amanda's not there," Cindy said smugly. "She's job interviewing. Won't be back 'til seven."

Guerrero mumbled something about 'gotta do everything myself.' Cindy grinned.

* * *

Cindy was super excited as they pulled up to the bank with Ilsa and Guerrero looking spiffy. It waned slightly when Guerrero handed Ames the keys.

"Why does she get to drive," Cindy mumbled from the backseat. Guerrero proceeded to threaten Ames obliquely about the Eldo and that wiped the grin off her face pretty fast.

Ilsa and Guerrero got out of the car, and once they were far enough away, Ames said, "Okay, look, if anything happens –which it won't –you've got to stand in front of me."

Cindy grinned. "He wouldn't kill you, I don't think. Not very much, anyway."

"How do you only kill someone a little?" Ames asked quizzically, and with morbid fascination.

"I don't know," Cindy admitted. "But I'm sure he could do it."

They played "I Spy" for a while, waiting for Ilsa and Guerrero to come out and to keep Ames' slightly ADD eyes peeled for any problems. It was a good thing, too, because the cops just pulled up behind the Eldo. Ames told Guerrero so through the comm. link.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Ames asked Guerrero.

Cindy gritted her teeth. This was like being on one end of the coolest phone conversation ever, and she could only hear half of it! Next time she was gonna insist on one of the ear things for herself or she'd explode from confusion and frustration.

Then Ames got a big grin on her face. "As long as you don't care," she said, putting the car into reverse.

"You are so dead, and I am _not_ standing in front of you," Cindy said, right before Ames backed the Eldo into the cop car with a huge bang.

"Oops," Ames said in a fake sorry voice, staring at the cops who were irked, to say the least. "Time to pacify the idiots," she whispered, then got out and wailed, "I'm SO sorry!" Latching onto one of the guys, she yelled, "Can I get _arrested for this?_ It was a TOTAL accident, I –"

The cops were trying to get her to shut up so they could get into the building, but they were attracting stares. Cindy considered getting out of the car and throwing a screaming hissy fit, but decided against it. Wasn't nearly classy enough. She got out of the car and announced, "I think I have _whiplash!"_, immediately drawing sympathy from the two older women on the sidewalk. _This is fun,_ she thought, as they began to accost the cops. Over to the left Ames was starting to leak some fake crocodile tears as she worked herself up. _I see why the gang likes it so much, _she thought with a chuckle, holding her neck because of the 'whiplash.'

* * *

Two hours later, Cindy began to realize that she didn't like the car fix-it place. It smelled like gasoline and grease, the magazines were boring, and the chairs were uncomfortable. Ames was staring at the TV that was playing some Soap with a bored expression on her face. Cindy wished desperately for a book.

The door jingled, and Guerrero walked in.

Ames instinctively froze by some self-preservation method and started babbling. "Before you freak, I talked to the guy, he says it's all fixable, no harm done. Just bumper-cruncher stuff plus paint and a new headlight."

_Why am I still between them?_ Cindy resignedly wondered to herself.

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**Reviews make me warm and fuzzy. :D  
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	32. Chapter 31

**Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. I'm not making a profit or anything; entertainment purposes only. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.  
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"Why don't you like Christmas?" Cindy asked.

"Did you just call me _roly-poly_?" Winston asked as well.

"Did _you_ just get this guy to deliver_ Christmas_ stuff?" Chance countered.

Cindy frowned. She didn't like being ignored.

"A tree is good for business," Winston said, tight lipped. "Clients like it."

"Plus they're pretty. And they smell nice," Cindy added.

"Clients, nothing. This is about you trying to instill in me some kinda Christmas spirit or something ridiculous like that."

"You know, there's nothing ridiculous about having a little holiday spirit," Winston said testily.

"When did you turn into Scrooge?" Cindy asked, slightly shocked.

Winston continued, "Which _you would know_, if you –"

"Had a better childhood, happy Christmas mornings, that kinda thing?" Chance demanded.

"Let it out; I know it hurts," Winston said sardonically.

"The only one that's gonna hurt is _you_, if a tree shows up."

"I _like _trees," Cindy said firmly.

Chance finally took notice of her. "Who are you now, Santa's little elf?"  
"Santa is made up," she said. "Do I look like a two-year-old? But Christmas isn't about Santa. _Duh_."

"Okay," Chance said, planting his hands on his hips. "Lay it on me. What is Christmas all about?"

Cindy thought about this for a moment, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "Well. It's about being together with friends and family –that's the travel and food part. It's about telling everyone how much they mean to you –that's the presents part. It's about hope. And most important…" she tried to figure out how to say it. "Christmas is about Joy to the World." She nodded, appearing satisfied with her definition, and grinned.

Chance frowned, but right then the elevator dinged, new clients arrived, and Cindy amscrayed because they looked respectable. Horrors.

* * *

**After the Job**

Guerrero sipped his glass of scotch while staring at the tree reflectively. "Hey dudes," he said as the elevator dinged. "What's up with this?"  
"Winston, you shouldn't have," Chance said sarcastically.

"But I did," Winston said smugly. He grinned at Chance. "Merry Christmas, pal."  
"Ho ho ho!" Ames called, coming in with Cindy. She had taken her Christmas shopping because shopping was in the top ten of Guerrero's kill-me-now list. Admittedly it wasn't first, but it was on there. Cindy looked very smug and held a rather large bag.

"Anybody want a scotch?" Guerrero asked, holding it up. "I stole the bottle from Maechumb's office."

"I'll take a double," Chance said.

Cindy made a face, and Winston laughed. Guerrero eyed her as she disappeared into the conference room. "Did she have a roll of wrapping paper with her?" he asked Ames.

"Yeah," she said. "I told you, we Christmas shopped!"

Winston looked alarmed. "Whoa. Who did she shop for?"

"All of us," Ames said, like it was obvious, and then frowned. "She wouldn't let me see my present."

"Good for her," Chance said.

While Cindy wrapped their gifts, they all sat around the tree drinking scotch.

Ames mumbled to herself, "Y'know, growing up I always wondered what it would be like to live in the 'burbs. Y'know, with a normal family."

Guerrero sighed and said, "All I know is that I'd rather be tortured by a…well, by _me_… than to ever go back there again." He held back a shudder. Suburbia was just a little too close to his definition of hell for his liking.

"Alright, that's it for me," Winston said, "I gotta go." He moved to get up from his seat.

"Not yet!" Cindy exclaimed. "I'm not done! And you better not have been peeking through the glass wall."

"Don't worry, the tree blocks the view," Chance said, with only a little sarcasm.

Cindy carried small, multicolored, oddly wrapped packages into the room and set them in front of each of them, except Guerrero, saying, "Your present I bought earlier. It's at Amanda's." Then she sat down in front of the tree, Indian style, and waited.

"Can we open them? It's not Christmas yet," Chance pointed out.

"It's Christmas eve. Close enough," Ames said, tearing into hers. "Oh, hey this is so neat! Thanks!"

Cindy smiled, pleased. It was a small silver jewelry holder shaped like a birch tree, minus leaves. A round bowl at the base was to hold rings and stuff, while the branches were for the necklaces and bracelets. "You're welcome."

"Oh brother," Winston said, but he was fighting a smile. "Thanks." He held up a large black T-shirt that said, '**Sarcasm**: just one of the _many_ services we provide.' "Dunno if I can wear this to work on not."

"Oh, I'm definitely wearing mine to work," Chance said, smirking. His was brown with orange lettering and proclaimed, "It could be worse. There could be **_Zombies_**."

"Oh _dear Lord_, don't tempt fate," Winston said, getting a good look at his shirt.

Chance laughed and said, "Thanks Cindy."

She grinned shyly and curled up by Guerrero on the couch, and they all stared silently at the tree for a little while longer. But then Ames said, "If I sit here any longer, I'm gonna fall asleep."

"I'll give you a lift," Winston said, getting up. "Merry Christmas, everybody."

"Merry Christmas!" Ames said, as they took their presents and departed.

Guerrero looked down at Cindy and said, "I'd better get you back to Amanda's before you keel over. Plus I've got a meeting with the plumber."

"No chance of that," Cindy mumbled. "I'm sitting down."

"It's nearly midnight. Plus it's Christmas Eve. Why do you need a plumber?" Chance asked.

"Not_ a_ plumber. _The_ plumber. Just forget it, dude," Guerrero said, scooping Cindy up.

"Whoa, hey," she said, surprised. "I can walk."

"The last time you said that and I let you, you hit a post," Guerrero said, obviously not believing her since he didn't put her down. Cindy gave up and wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes.

"Later, dude," he called to Chance, walking to the elevator.

* * *

Guerrero thumped on Amanda's door with his foot, pushing aside the fact that she might be asleep. Cindy was down for the count in his arms. Even being in the car hadn't woken her up. After a minute, the door opened up to reveal the brunette. "Sorry," she said in a low voice, opening the door. "Come on in."  
"No problem," Guerrero said, carrying Cindy into her room and setting her down. His daughter immediately curled up into a ball as he pulled the comforter over her. He pulled her glasses off and set them on the nightstand. He checked his watch –nearly forty-five minutes until his meeting. Time enough.

Shutting the door, he headed for the kitchen and the front door, when Amanda called, "She hid her present for you in the pantry. And there's coffee, if you want to take it with you."

He raised an eyebrow and went to investigate. Sure enough, he found a slightly better wrapped box in Christmas paper in the pantry.

"Did you help with the paper?" Guerrero asked.

"Mhmm," Amanda said, listening to her coffeemaker spit the liquid into her coffee cup.

Guerrero slit the paper and pulled it away from the plain brown square box. "Please tell me it's not alive," he said.

Amanda laughed. "It's not. Mine is." At his look, she explained, "I got a kitten. For the apartment."

"Do they allow pets?" Guerrero was pretty sure they didn't.

"They don't allow _loud_ pets," Amanda said. "I'll get him." She disappeared into her bedroom.

Guerrero rolled his eyes at the thought of an animal that you fed voluntarily, and opened his box. Pulling out the packing peanuts, he pulled out an entirely black mug and the note, 'drink something hot,' in Cindy's handwriting. Amanda's cup of coffee was done, so he moved it to the side, set the mug under the coffee maker, and proceeded to make himself a cup. As the cup filled up, Amanda came back carrying a sleepy grey tiger-striped kitten. The tiny thing yawned widely.

"I'll let her name him," she said, setting him down, and they both watched the kitten investigate his surroundings on his shaky legs.

"She'll like it," Guerrero said, knowing his kid went crazy for anything with four legs. Amanda nodded, smiling. Guerrero supposed she did, too. The coffeemaker stopped gurgling, and he reached for his cup, only to notice that the black color of the mug had faded, leaving photos of the gang, him, and Cindy on the mug. "That's pretty cool," he remarked, taking a sip.

"Is it Christmas yet?" a very sleepy Cindy asked, coming into the kitchen without her glasses on.

Amanda glanced at the clock –it was fifteen past midnight. "Yep," she said. "Just barely."

She yawned. "Good. Merry Christmas."

"The present's pretty cool, dude," Guerrero said, speaking of his mug.

Cindy beamed. "Thanks. I thought it was like a spy cup, how the pictures come and go."

The kitten meowed.

"What's that?" Cindy asked, staring at it.

"A cat," Guerrero said.

"Your Christmas present from me, I guess," Amanda said, smiling a little.

Cindy looked up at her. "But I thought you didn't want a cat."

Amanda shrugged, a shadow falling over her face. "It was Jerry who didn't like cats."

"Oh," Cindy said.

"Well, aren't you going to say hi to the fur ball?" Guerrero asked.

Cindy squealed as the kitten scampered over to her to be petted. "I'll have to think of a name," she said, stroking the soft grey-striped fur. "Is it a boy or girl?"

"Boy," Amanda said, picking up her mug and taking a sip.

Guerrero looked at his watch. Thirty minutes 'til his meeting. He drank the black coffee from his present and watched his daughter play with the kitten on Christmas morning.

The meeting could wait.

* * *

**I decided not to preach to y'all about Christmas since that doesn't fit with the story and go for general themes that Chance needed to hear about Christmas, but for the record -I am a Christian and I do believe Christmas is all about God and Jesus coming into the world to save us all.  
I had to really think about those presents. How did you think I did? Please review!  
**


	33. Another Pesky Author's Note

**Another Pesky Author's note.**

So...I think it's safe to say I won't be updating for a while -my life is super busy at this point in time. Only for like, 2 weeks though.

However, I am working on some super awesome original stuff for this story. Don't worry. It's gonna be amazing. And part of this no-posting time is for me to figure out just how the logistics of this originalness is gonna work.

I didn't want to leave you all hanging without updates, so I'm just apprising you of this situation. I hope you all understand, and I'll get back to you in two weeks with some nifty, wonderful original chapter stuff. According to my plan (so far), that will wrap up the story (but not in like 2 chapters, so don't worry.) And then I'm debating whether or not I'll do a prequel for Secrets. Up in the air at the moment, but I kind of want to :)

Alrighty then! Thanks for understanding, and I'll get back to y'all in 2 weeks!


	34. Chapter 32

**An: I'm baaaaaack! And this chapter is dedicated to Arlothia, because she is absolutely awesome!**

Cindy's alarm buzzed in her ear and Amanda thumped on her door simultaneously. "Kiddo! You need to get up, or you'll be late for school! Up at at 'em!"

Cindy slapped her alarm clock to make it shut up and threw her covers off, stumbling into the kitchen for breakfast. She was beginning to reach the age where getting up in the morning was a hard thing to do. She worked the tangles out of her hair while her pop tarts cooked in the toaster. Curiously making his way about the kitchen, the grey tiger striped kitten sniffed her bare feet poking out from under her green flannel pajama pants. He had been at the apartment for about three weeks, and Cindy had settled on the name Sherlock, after much debate. He was just an inquisitive character that the name seemed to fit.

When her pop tarts popped up, Cindy started to bold them down interchanged with gulps of milk, but Amanda commanded, "Don't scarf your food; you could choke!"

"You said I was gonna be late," Cindy mumbled around a mouthful of sugar and dough.

"I said you'd be late if you didn't get up," Amanda corrected, brushing her wet brown hair back and peering into the hall mirror at her reflection.

Cindy rolled her eyes and continued chewing as Sherlock decided to investigate the back of the refrigerator. Cindy snatched him up before he could scoot back there and deposited him in her room, shutting the door as she got dressed for school. By that time, he had forgotten about that urge and was much more interested in the pull cords for her window blinds.

"Have you got lunch money?" Amanda asked her as Cindy grabbed up her backpack and stuffed her books inside it.

"Yep," she said, sipping the black bag and sliding the straps over her shoulders.

"Be safe, have fun, bye," Amanda said, turning on her hair dryer and finger combing the wet strands. Cindy waved and left the apartment, taking the stairs down two at a time. It was a gray day, cold and nasty, by the looks of it. Cindy pulled her jacket tighter and rubbed her already cold nose with the back of her hand. She joined the long trickle of kids who walked to school, letting her tennis shoes slap the concrete and splash through puddles, as kids do sometimes. Today was (hopefully) going to be a good first day back at school.

* * *

Periods one through four passed without much trouble. Mrs. Jeffries in English didn't have anything disparaging to say. In fact, she commented on how her sentence structure had improved. Cindy took that to be a compliment. The bell rang, signaling the start of lunch period. Cindy went to the lunch room and got in the lunch line. She smiled at some of her friends she saw. Her good friend Regina waved at her from across the room and elbowed her way into line behind her. Regina was short, Hispanic, and loud. She could yell like nobody's business, and often did, but she was sweet and funny, and Cindy liked her.

"How was Christmas?" Regina enthusiastically exclaimed.

"It was really good," Cindy said. "I got a kitten! Well…really Amanda did, but I named it."

"What's it look like?" Regina demanded.

"It's grey striped. I named it Sherlock."

"Aww!" Regina exclaimed. "That's so cute! I got lots of clothes and movies!"

"Ohhh, which ones, 'Nina?" Cindy asked. They were embroiled in conversation about movies as the got their lunch and sat down to eat.

When they finished that topic, Regina asked, "Did Amanda ever get rid of the boyfriend?"

"Yes," Cindy said. "My dad took care of him," she said with a touch of pride.

"Good," Nina said. "He was trash."

"Tell me about it," Cindy muttered.

"Ohmigoodness!" Regina burst out as a thought popped into her head. "Did you hear about Bobby?"

"No…" Cindy said.

"His older brother got busted for selling drugs!" Regina whispered.

"Oh," Cindy said sympathetically. "Poor Bobby."

"Everyone's talking about it, and I mean everyone! The police went around to the high school and everything, talked to his family… they're trying to see if he had any connections to the mob or whatever." Regina gave her a funny look. "This was before Christmas. Why didn't you hear about it?"

Cindy shrugged. "I was busy. And I don't go looking for that stuff."

Regina accepted her answer and they began talking about other things. But Cindy wondered, as she ate her lunch, what other students would think if they knew what her father did –what the team did –if they knew what sort of things really went on in this city…what would they say?

She wasn't ashamed or anything like that, she was even secretly proud of them, but she didn't like being talked about. Private things should stay private.

Rather an odd thought, since her father was _Guerrero._

* * *

First school day: down. However many hundred to go.

Cindy walked out of the school building, waving to Regina and setting off down the drive for Amanda's apartment with the other floods of kids. The backpack on her shoulders thumbed and bumped, full of the homework all the teachers shoved upon their students right after a break. She wasn't really looking at the street; she only heard the sound of a car engine and the smell of car exhaust. She didn't pay attention until she heard, "Hey, dude."

Cindy looked up and there in front of her was the familiar and wonderful Eldo with her dad driving. "Hey!" she said, grinning happily.

"Hop in; I'll give you a lift to Amanda's," Guerrero said.

Cindy pushed her glasses up on her nose. "I can't come to Chance's?" She asked disappointedly.

"You've got other things to do," he said, giving her backpack a pointed look.

She rolled her eyes and got in the car.

* * *

_An undetermined number of days earlier_

The room was dim and hard to see, filled with the smoke from the Cuban cigars the man behind the polished oak desk smoked constantly. Only the desk lamp illuminated the room. Baptiste knew this room well –he hated it. He hated the man behind the desk as well right now.

He was not the favored son, and he knew it.

"Well, how'd you like freezing your butt off in Siberia?" Joubert asked, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling.

"It was fabulous," Baptiste said sarcastically, spitting the words through his teeth like darts. "Why am I here?" he asked.

The man behind the desk with a thick jaw and a gray crew cut frowned darkly, the fire glowing at the end of his cigar. " 'Cause I want you here," he finally growled, stubbing out his cigar on the convenient ashtray. " 'Cause I said so."

"No," Baptiste said.

A grey eyebrow went up on the old man's face and his forehead wrinkled, but not in a quizzical way –dangerously. "No?" He repeated slowly.

Baptiste shook his head, the corners of his mouth tight with anger. "That worked when I was younger, but not now. You cut me loose; why are you bringing me back now?"

The man sat silently behind the desk, and the smoke began to clear out of the room.

"This is about Junior, isn't it?" Baptiste asked bitterly. "You heard he broke me out o' that prison cell to help him and then put me back in."

"You want back at him?" the old man asked. "I can give you that."

"Why do _you_ want back at him?" Baptiste fired back.

"Traitors and betrayers gotta be dealt with," Joubert said bitterly.

Baptiste agreed wholeheartedly, but he was disinclined to go back working for the man who betrayed _him._ "You've had seven years," he snapped. "Why now?"

"He's more vulnerable. More people to care about, more to protect," the old man shrugged. "He can't protect them all."

Baptiste glared. "If you think this will make him come back, you're wrong. He's a changed man; I don't know him anymore."

"If Junior won't come back, then he'll be destroyed," Joubert said menacingly, "in every way possible."

Baptiste laughed. "Let me tell you something, matey," he said. "_Chance,_" he stressed the word, "doesn't destroy or defeat easy. I should know."

"You would, hmm?" Joubert asked with a reflective, cunning look on his face.

"I would. And before you ask, the answer is still no," Baptiste said.

"Why?" the old man pressed.

Baptiste clenched and unclenched his hands, loath to admit that he still had reservations about betraying someone who had once been closer than a brother. He didn't do it on the Triple Frontier because he didn't feel right about it, and he didn't feel right about doing it now, although he had no idea why. Instead, he said, "Why should I help you? You're a fine one to talk about betrayal when you abandoned me to Siberia. I'm here 'cause you need me. Just a matter of convenience."

"How much would it take for you to change your mind?"

Baptiste laughed. "More than you're willing to pay."

"How much?" the old man pressed.

Baptiste thought about it for a while, staring at the man who was as tough as an old boot and still very, very powerful. He knew Joubert could make it hard for him if he chose to. He named an absurd price, even to him. "20 million dollars. And your watch," Baptiste announced, staring at the Rolex watch on Joubert's arm. It was a steel Submariner model, water resistant up to 300 meters, self-winding, with a rotatable black Cerachrom disk. A very nice watch, one Baptiste would be happy to add to his collection. However, he knew Joubert would only part with it when hell froze.

His steely grey eyes watched Baptiste leaned back in his chair. "20 million and my watch, huh?" he repeated.

Baptiste nodded.

He slowly pulled the watch off his wrist and set it on the desk. "The rest will be sent to your bank account. You still have the Swiss one, right?"

Baptiste stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"I'm not proud when I don't have to be," Joubert snapped. "You've been around him since he went over to the other side. You know those people he's mixed up with. I need that information."

Baptiste looked at the watch and imagined the dollar signs swimming around in his head. He weighed the implications of taking down Junior and his team. But the lure of the money, watch…and even the gratification of his former boss and father figure admit that he needed him, the rejected son, was too much. His brown fingers lifted the watch off the table and inspected it. "What do you want to know?"

The old man looked satisfied that he had gotten a good deal. "Dig. Anything and everything on Junior and those people he works with. Categorize it, analyze it, use those skills I gave you to see where he can be hurt. I want this information yesterday."

And just like that, the meeting was over.


	35. Chapter 33

**An: And the story moves ever onward... PS0 if anyone is interested in who some of the OC's in this story look like, I'm planning to post them on my profile. And no, I haven't found a good face for Cindy yet, so you don't have to ask. Though I do take suggestions, if they're good. :) **

Guerrero glared at his cell phone, willing the text to disappear.

It didn't.

He cursed eloquently in his head. The text read: Baptiste broken out of Siberia. Whereabouts unknown.

He texted back and demanded: Where. When. How.

The return text: Unknown. At least 4 days. Unknown.

He cursed eloquently out loud. Everyone's heads turned towards him, and he glared back. It wasn't something he normally did with vehemence. Catching Chance's eye, he cocked his head toward the inner office. Chance got up and followed him. Guerrero ignored Ames confused questions and Winston's suspicious glances as he shut the door behind them. He didn't say anything except, "Dude," and handed his phone to Chance. The ex-assassin stared at the phone for .5 seconds and cursed as well.

"Four days?" Chance said, thoroughly pissed. "That's a big window. He could be anywhere by now."

"Apparently they don't think very fast in Siberia," Guerrero said grimly.

"Well…he'll be laying low for a while, 'til the heat's off," Chance said, already thinking about what he'd do in a situation like that. "There's no way of knowing if he'll have anything to do with us –"

"Dude," Guerrero said, cutting him off, "Unknown. My contact there is at least smart enough to know if Baptiste broke himself out of prison. If he doesn't know how he got out, then somebody helped him."

"So. Our options are maybe Escalante for revenge, and Joubert. Or someone else who wants his skills," Chance mused darkly.

"I thought you said the old man cut him loose?" Guerrero asked.

"He did," Chance said, glaring at Guerrero's phone. "By the way, since when did you have eyeball on Baptiste?"

Guerrero raised an eyebrow. "Since we took him down in DC."

"Really?" Chance asked surprised. "That's –"

All of a sudden, the door popped open and Ames stuck her head in. "Soooo…," she said, looking between them. "What's with all the cloak and dagger stuff? Not that we don't do that all the time, but…that was _way_ more than usual."

Chance just stared at her. Guerrero asked, "Do you want your body to wind up at the bottom of the river?"

Ames blinked. "Okay, if you didn't want to talk, just say so. Geez…" she walked away.

* * *

Baptiste was back in Joubert's office two days later, summing up the contents of his folder. He went through them all –every single one.

Ilsa Pucci, the wealthy heiress of Marshal Pucci and chair of the Marshal Pucci Foundation, who works with many charities and funds many schools across the world. Saved by Christopher Chance from her husband's lawyer who wanted to take her money and kill her. Subsequently also saved by Christopher Chance from several people as well as one of the Lopez brothers; Hector, to be exact.

Laverne Winston, an ex-cop who met Chance when working to protect Katherine Walters; the one who formed the team that exists today and the 'man in charge'. Saved by Chance from an old client of Joubert's who wanted his book back.

Ames Thorton, a small time thief, saved by Chance twice from sticky situations and now a part of his team.

Guerrero, who had, for most intents and purposes, changed sides and worked for Chance now, needed no real explanation. There wasn't one you could give about the man. Plus he already had a file three feet tall.

"That's it?" Joubert asked.

"As far as I can tell," Baptiste said.

"You're holding out on me," he said, frowning in anger.

"Care to repeat that?" Baptiste said tightly.

The old man said, "You heard me. Facts are one thing, connections are another, emotions, inferences, even gossip works. Do you still want to do this?" he demanded.

"Yes!" Baptiste snapped.

"Then you'll work with Forrest," he said decisively. "He'll make sure you process the Intel correctly."

Baptiste resisted the damning urge to grind his teeth together. Forrest was the information handler who now managed somewhat of a part of Guerrero's previous position. He irritated him beyond belief.

"Got a problem with that?" Joubert asked.

"No," Baptiste said, talking himself around silently. He had no loyalties to anyone on that team, no reason to cover up or fudge anything. All bets were off as of now –he would do it Joubert's way.

At the back of his mind, there was still that persistent nagging feeling of wrongness, but he did his best to squash it.

* * *

Someone once said revenge was a dish best served cold.

Cold was perhaps the word that described Forrest best.

Baptiste watched him surreptitiously as the man in question stared at the computer screen in front of him with sharp blue eyes. His hair was dark and curly, but his skin was very pale and bloodless, drawn tightly over high cheekbones. The cold, though, exuded from his heart, which must have been a solid block of ice, and permeated his attitude, making him into a cynical, unfeeling, human calculator.

"You got anything?" Baptiste finally asked, breaking the silence in the room.

"Possibly," was the curt reply from Forrest. He had an English accent like Baptiste, but that in no way meant Baptiste felt any camaraderie with the man.

Baptiste rolled his eyes and said, "You either do or don't, mate. So which is it?"

"Since you force me to choose one of two absolutes…yes. I do."

"Well, what is it?" Baptiste asked. _Bloody computer head…_

"There is a girl."

"A girl," Baptiste said incredulously. "What girl?"

"That, I have not discovered thus far. But she seems to have ties to the team, and specifically Guerrero," Forrest said, turning towards him.

Baptiste stared at him. _Family man…_too late he realized that his emotions and thoughts had run over his face, because Forrest had now fixated on him. "Do you know this girl?" he asked. "Yes, you do. Who is she? What is her connection? Why didn't you mention this in your preliminary report?"

Baptiste ground his teeth together and counted to ten. Twice. "I didn't mention it a'cause I thought that Joubert only wanted ties to Chance."

"He wants to take his whole team down," Forrest said coldly. "Any connection is worthwhile."

Baptiste shook his head, pursing his lips together and glaring at Forrest. "You never met Guerrero, mate. Goin' down this path will be like waving your hand in a cobra's face."

"Well. Shall we see what Joubert has to say?" Forrest asked icily.

* * *

The old man's exact words were, "Guerrero can go to hell with Junior. Cough it up, Baptiste."

_Oi_, he thought to himself, exhaling. "The girl is his kid."

Dead silence.

"And you know this because…" Joubert said in a deadly tone of voice.

"During that sketchy period with him, I followed him places," Baptiste said. "Found out about her. Filed it away for useful information later."

"It certainly is useful," Forrest commented. "We've found his pressure point. Every man has a weakness, and we've got his."

"But what happens when it gets pushed?" Baptiste asked, feeling a cold feeling creep into his bones.

"I guess we'll find out," the old man said, and puffed on his cigar. "Get to work, gentlemen."


	36. Chapter 34

**An: Hope you like this chapter! Multiple points of view, so hold onto your socks! :)**

The loud hip-hop music pounded through the club and the disco lights were bright and erratic enough to make anyone dizzy. Ames was head banging in the middle of the crowd with the guy she met at the coffee shop, just a little tipsy. When the lights went out, she didn't exactly know they had; she just kept dancing because the music was still playing. When someone bumped into her she didn't think much of it, because people did that to her all the time. But she noticed when she was grabbed and a hand was shoved over her mouth.

"Hey! What the –" she managed to yell before a gag was thrust into her mouth and she was carried off the dark dance floor. Her flailing punches didn't do much good, and her muffled protestations were weak. But it was doubtful that anyone even heard her well over the music. Once out of the throng of people, a rag with strong smelling stuff –chloroform, she thought dimly –interposed itself under her nose, and she went limp.

* * *

Ilsa Pucci was having a glass of wine on the balcony of her penthouse, thinking about her husband and the new man, Christopher Chance. While she didn't want to live in the past, she still loved her husband very much, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to pursue this aggravating man (if there was anything to pursue. He might not even be attracted to her.) She swirled the red wine in her glass pensively, not hearing the door of her penthouse opened by an expert, nor the footsteps on her thick white carpet. However, the door to the balcony had hinges in need of oil.

The door creaked, and she jerked, startled. She rose up out of her chair and turned, only to yelp and try to dodge the arms that reached for her. Her glass flew out of her hands and broke on impact with the floor, shattering and spilling red liquid everywhere. She knew rudimentary fighting skills, and Ilsa managed to put her knee into someone's crotch before they grabbed her. She screamed the shrill scream of a woman in dire distress, but a gag was soon forced down over her mouth and her hands were pulled behind her back. Ilsa scraped her high heel painfully down the leg of the man in black behind her, and felt slightly satisfied that he cursed. But then some rag soaked in something was stuck under her nose, and her knees collapsed.

* * *

When the black clad intruders entered the apartment, Cindy was asleep.

However, Amanda was not. In her room, she was listening to music and trying to decide if she really did want to seriously think about going back to college to finish her degree. She had been a punk kid who goofed off during her first year of college and then fell into the escort business, later walking away from college. That's where she had met Rahab –then Sandra. She chewed her fingernails, wavering. Subjecting her brain to schooling after ten years didn't sound terribly appealing, but…she wanted to do things for herself now. Maybe she'd have a chance to go somewhere with her life.

The decision got shoved to the back of her head, though, because she heard the distinctive sound of a lock being broken. Instantly, she pulled her earphones out of her ears and reached for the baseball bat beside her bed. _Don't even think about it, buddy,_ she thought to herself, slipping out of the room.

She swung at the black clad figure she saw, sending him to the floor. She thumped him a couple more times for good measure. "What do you think you're doing, breaking in here?" she demanded. "I'm calling the police, you poser!"

Then she saw the next one. And then came two or three. _They don't look like housebreakers. _"Get out!" she shrieked, swinging the bat. She connected with a stomach and a shin, but then one of the men wrenched it out of her grip and threw it aside. She yelped as she hit the table and fell to the ground. One of the intruders stepped on her wrist and she screamed as she heard it crack.

* * *

Cindy woke up to the sound of yelling. Her first fuzzy thought was, _Jerry's back. Uh oh._ She rolled out of bed and tiptoed into the hall, intent on the sound, but then came face to face with a man in black with a bulletproof vest on and a ski mask, to boot. She just stared for half a second, and then screamed and tried to bold back into her room. _Phone dad, phone dad, phone dad, _her brain demanded. She didn't reach her door before a hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, throwing her into the doorframe. "Help!" she yelled before being completely overpowered.

_Daddy,_ her mind whispered before being consumed by darkness.

* * *

Amanda coughed wetly as the boot pulled back for another kick to her abdomen. She had several cuts on her face, her middle felt like pudding, and her wrist was broken. She braced for another blow, but then the command came. "Alright, that's enough!"

The room spun around her, and she felt nauseous. A man's face came into her field of vision. He was black, with a shaved head and beard stubble. "Sorry about this, luv," he said with a British accent. At least she thought it was British. Right now she was having a hard time remembering her own name. He went on, "Tell Guerrero that it's nothin' personal. Just business."

She stared at him. _What? Tell Guerrero…breaking into my apartment is nothing personal to Guerrero? Huh?_

But when she looked behind him and saw the child-sized lump over one of the men's shoulders, she knew. "No! Cindy, no! Who are you? Why're you doing this?" she shrieked.

"Nothing personal," the man repeated before the boot slammed into her stomach again, and she fainted.

Amanda wasn't really sure how long she was out swimming in the darkness, only that she knew she had been, and she needed some water, and she needed a phone. _Cindy… _She clambered unsteadily to her feet and stuck her head under the cold faucet, wincing at the temperature and cuts on her face. After drinking some of the water, she grabbed the phone and hit speed dial one. _Pick up!_ She thought urgently. As the phone rang, she began to cough, and couldn't stop when the man on the other end picked up.

"Hello?" Guerrero said.

Amanda tried to catch her breath, but only managed to cough more.

"Amanda?" he asked. _He has caller ID, _she thought distantly.

Finally getting control of her voice back, she immediately said, "I'm sorry, I couldn't –" she was over taken by another coughing fit. At least this one was shorter.

Alarm carried through his tone as he asked, "What? What's happened?"

"Men came –broke in. They took Cindy," Amanda managed to say. "I couldn't… I couldn't stop them." Her throat was so dry.

There was dead silence on the other end of the line. But finally, in a strained, deadly tone, Guerrero asked, "Who? When?"

"I don't know. Maybe…" she looked at the clock. "An hour or two?" She coughed again.

"Are you all right?" he demanded.

Amanda categorized all the pain in her body, and couldn't muster up a lie. "No," she answered.

"I'll be there as fast as I can," he said, and then hung up.

She willed him to hurry.

* * *

Guerrero drove with his left hand and dialed with his right. Anger was being replaced with steel resolve and determination. The worst had happened, and now he had to do what he did best. Find things out.

"Do you know what time it is?" Chance mumbled into the phone.

"Wake up, dude," Guerrero said. "Cindy's been taken."

"What?" Chance snapped, sounding more alert. "Who? When?"

"Not that long ago. Get the team together and come over to Amanda's to check things out. She sounded like she was hurt on the phone."

"We'll get her back," Chance said.

"Yeah," Guerrero said, and ended the call, tossing the phone on to the passenger's seat of the Eldo. He had just driven Cindy home that afternoon. His little girl was gone. Taken. Because of _him._

_She is my world,_ he thought.

He'd like to see a cop pull him over for speeding tonight.


	37. Chapter 35

**An: it's been a while. So sorry. But moving right along!**

Amanda had managed to get an icepack out of her refrigerator, and it was currently on her face, because that felt the puffiest. Sitting on her kitchen floor, she heard the front door open. She pulled the icepack off her face as Guerrero strode into the kitchen. "There were six or seven of them," she began, feeling like she owed him an explanation. "There have been a bunch of punk kids breaking in all over the neighborhood, and that's what I thought they were. Didn't call 911 when I should have."

"Not your fault," Guerrero said. "You put up as much of a fight as you could," he said, noting the injuries on her body.

"Is it as bad as it feels?" she mumbled.

"Depends on how it feels," he said, kneeling down and inspecting her.

"Like I just went five rounds with a heavyweight and lost them all," she said, wincing as she pushed herself up more. "I'm sure it's just bruises though," she said, reassuring him. He didn't need to worry about more than he had to. "Worst thing is probably a broken wrist."

"Let me see," he said, and she gingerly held out the injured limb (OW). He was careful as he gently gave her wrist a once-over. "No bones sticking out, that's good."

"Thanks, doc," Amanda mumbled, putting the ice pack on her face again.

"Definitely broken though," he said. "Come on." He stood, holding out a hand to help her.

"Hmm?" she asked, rather out of it.

"You need a check-up, and I need to find my daughter."

She let him drag her up by her good hand and an elbow, teetering uncertainly once upright. "Guerrero," Amanda said suddenly, as he was hunting around for goodness-knows-what. "One of the men –he said something to me." His eyes snapped to her, and his glasses couldn't shield from her the feelings of worry and concern emanating from his eyes. "He said… he said to tell you it was nothing personal. Just business." Her toes curled up in her shoes as she instinctively tried to make herself smaller at the anger in his eyes.

"Just business," he repeated, and even though she _knew_ she wasn't mad at her, Amanda still felt afraid. "Nothing _personal_. Stealing my daughter is **not **_'nothing personal',"_ he nearly hissed. He seemed to gain his cool, steely control soon, though, because he asked, "Did you see any faces?"

Amanda replied, "Just his –he was black and shaved his head. And he had a goatee," she added, "With some kind of accent."

Guerrero's eyes lit up, and not in a good way. "Was it British?" he demanded. "Was it a British accent?"

"I'm not positive," Amanda said, "But it coulda been."

His phone was instantly to his ear as he waited impatiently for someone at the other end to pick up. Amanda pressed the ice pack back to her throbbing face and wished for sleep. "Hey dude," Guerrero said. "I think it was Baptiste."

* * *

"Fabulous," Winston grumbled into the phone line. "More wonderful news."

"Where's Chance?" Guerrero demanded.

"Flipping out somewhere," Winston said. "And since Chance never, ever flips out, I guess I don't have to tell you that this has just become a lot more complicated."

"How so?"

"We can't reach Ames on her phone. Ilsa isn't at her apartment. There are signs of a break in."

Guerrero looked up at the ceiling and ground his teeth together silently. There weren't even any words he knew to describe this situation. "I'm bringing Amanda in. She's beat up." He ignored her muttered protestations that she was _fine_, thank you. "Still got those bone setting skills?" he asked.

Winston groaned.

"I'll take that as a yes," Guerrero said tightly. "Be there soon, dude." He jabbed the disconnect button rather violently.

"I can get myself to an emergency room," Amanda insisted. "You don't have to bother about me. You've got other things to worry about."

"Can't be sure they won't come back and finish the job," Guerrero said. "Is there anything here you need?"

She looked around the apartment and said, "No."

He helped her through the shattered doorway.

* * *

When they were on the highway, he told her to reach into the glove box of the Eldo. Amanda opened it with her good hand and pulled out a gun. Somehow she wasn't surprised. She tried to hand it to him, but he shook his head. "That's for you," he said.

As a man known for keeping his weapons close and his secrets closer, she couldn't help but feel a little privileged, and a little touched. Then the thought flew out of her head as she moved her arm wrong and her wrist protested mightily.

* * *

Cindy bounced painfully as something poked into her back. Wait… her bed didn't bounce. And it wasn't this dark in her bedroom. And she didn't sleep on her back. Especially not with her hands underneath her. She tried to pull her hands into a more comfortable position, but they wouldn't budge. And then she remembered why, as she was carried over a particularly painful bump and she heard an engine revving up.

The black invaders…getting caught… the total darkness…

_Okay… I'm in the back of a car. Trunk. Don't panic. Deep breaths. Keep calm. _Cindy clenched her teeth together and forced herself to get a grip. _Okay… remember what Dad told you to do if locked in a car. Feel for trunk releases and kick the tail lights out. _She began to feel around for any sort of lever that would pop the trunk –some cars had them. Her father's Eldo did not. She didn't know if he had it uninstalled or if it had just never been there, but he didn't want people to get out of his trunk. So a very long time ago, he had taught her what to do if she ever got locked in a trunk.

It might be a strange thing to teach your then-seven-year-old, but it was coming in handy now.

Her fingers didn't have a lot of feeling besides pins-and-needles in them, but she couldn't find anything from where she was. Not to mention, it was dark in here. Who were these people? What did they want? Why _her?_

It was probably about Guerrero. She hated that conclusion, but it probably was. The only reason anyone would do this kind of thing would be to get to him. Cindy located the tail light plate and began to pry at it with her tingly fingers. If she could just get it off, she knew where to rip out the wires and how to kick it out so that she could stick out a hand and wave at people, signaling for help. Or at least increase the chances of the car being pulled over by a cop for the brake light being out.

She knew she shouldn't want him to come for her; it was what these people wanted. She was the bait; he'd just be walking into a trap. But her heart crumbled and she fought desperately not to cry. _I'm not this girl!_ She thought angrily. _I will not fall to pieces! I have to be strong; I need to be brave now!_

But it was so hard. The hard plastic wasn't budging well at all. She ran her fingers along the sort of carpeted sides of the trunk, to see if there was anything else she could rip. Along the edge of the trunk the carpet was peeling away from the sides. She grabbed a chunk of it and pulled it away. Now she had better leverage at the plastic. Her fingers were going to be sore and possibly bloody as she pulled as hard as she could.

The panel finally popped off after a few minutes, and with now painfully aching fingers, she searched for wires to rip and a good place to kick.

_Daddy, please. _She shifted around in the trunk and aimed her first kick at the thing –she wasn't at a great angle for this, and she couldn't move all that much. _Please come get me. _She let out her fear, anger, and tears by kicking the light, trying to get it out. She had to change feet after a while –it hurt.

The speed of the car began to slow down and eventually stop. She stopped kicking, unsure what was going on. Unexpectedly, the trunk popped open, letting a burst of light that burned her eyes. Cindy squeezed them tight shut and curled up into a ball, afraid.

_I'm not sure I can rescue myself. _


	38. Chapter 36

**An: if you haven't, check the pictures I have of my OC's on my profile. :) sorry some are small. And sorry it's been awhile. :)  
**

Amanda was greeted by a grim-faced Winston and a large first-aid kit. "Oh, Lord," he moaned, getting a good look at her, "What happened to you?"

"Baptiste and other miscellaneous goons happened," Guerrero snapped, coming around her and going to a computer. "Check her wrist out, dude. Chance back yet?"

"He called," Winston said, ushering Amanda over to a chair. "He's making his way here as fast as he can."

"Any news on Ilsa and Ames?" Guerrero said, logging into a computer and rapidly typing.

"Nope," Winston said gloomily. "But I'll give you three guesses to who I think it is."

Guerrero looked up, his eyes intensified by the lenses of his glasses. "But why _now?"_ he demanded. "Why them? I don't care about _them_."

Winston and Amanda both gave him incredulous looks. Guerrero rolled his eyes. "Fine. I care, but they're not like _Cindy _to me."

"Who said this was about you?" Winston rumbled.

Amanda cast him a nervous look. "He did say it was nothing personal," she whispered.

Guerrero stopped his rapid thumping on the keyboard for a moment and stared into the air, thinking hard.

"Maybe it's not you; maybe it's _Chance,_" Winston said, not liking that thought much at all.

"Maybe it's all of us," Guerrero said darkly. "And who wants to take all of us down?"

Winston squeezed his eyes tightly shut before cracking open the first aid kit and getting down to business. "So, Miss Amanda, how did you go about breaking your wrist?"

"I think someone stepped on it," Amanda said, half-smiling. "No one's ever called me 'miss' before."

"Well, then I'm glad to be the first," Winston said, checking the circulation in her wrist and asking her to look away and tell him which finger he was poking. "Can you wiggle your fingers?" She did very slowly. He went about splinting it very slowly and gently, and gave her an ice pack and aspirin for the pain.

"Do I have to pay for this?" she asked jokingly, halfway through this process.

"For friends and family, free of charge," Winston assured her.

She stared at the splint on her wrist and bit her lip.

The elevator dinged and Change flew out of the elevator faster than humanly possible, she thought. "Break in patterns at Ilsa's match general procedure for Joubert's men. I don't know where Ames got picked up, but her apartment's fine."

"'Kay, dude. Come here and help me figure out where the old man would be," Guerrero called from the computer, ignoring Chance's hidden panic just under her surface.

"It's gonna be okay," she said softly, looking Chance in the eye, even though she herself wasn't totally sure about it.

He nodded slowly, then moved over to the computer, focusing all his energy into the search for the missing girls.

* * *

After a second or two, Cindy squinted up into the light. It was maybe dawn? Anyways, the sunrise was behind whoever it was that had opened the trunk –she couldn't see them. After a few seconds, she said, "If we're stopping for a while, I kind of have to pee." It could be a way to get away from these guys, and her voice didn't shake while she said it. Point for her.

She was lifted and unceremoniously dumped on the ground and winced at the feeling of asphalt under her body. "I told you not to put her in the trunk," someone said.

"Why not?" another answered.

"Look," the first man said in obvious tones.

Silence. Then. "How the *#$& did she do that to the trunk?"

"She's had training," the man said.

Cindy cracked her neck and sat up, staring into their faces. First her eyes went wide. Then they scowled. "I know you!" she said. "You're Chance's old partner. Baptiste. What are you, suicidal?"

The black man with the European accent stared down at her. "Listen missy, you're gonna want to keep that mouth of yours to a minimum."

"Why?" she demanded. "I don't like being bait."

"If you don't shut up, you get a date with a roll of duct tape. It hurts when you pull it off."

"Do I get to ask _why _I'm bait?" she snapped.

"No." He pointed towards the side of the road, which was lined with bushes. "Go, if you need to."

"That would be a 'no'," Cindy said, struggling to her feet without assistance from her hands.

"What are we gonna do wit' 'er?" One of the muscle guys asked. "She tore up the trunk."  
"Put her in the car with the other two," Baptiste said.

They frog marched her over to another beige van and opened the door, shoving her in. She fell onto a warm lap.

"Cindy!" Ilsa's voice exclaimed. "Oh, are you alright?"

"Ow," she mumbled, righting herself. Ilsa was here? Why? She looked up at Ilsa and saw she had a black eye, along with scrapes. She had a concerned but tough expression on her face. _Never seen this side of her before,_ she thought.

"Dude, that was seriously legit!" Ames said. She was peering out the window, and was the only one who actually had a the best angle of the back of the trunk Cindy had been in. "You totally tore up that tail light! You almost had it out!"

Cindy blinked. Ames, too? …Why was she wearing a miniskirt? "You've been hanging around Dad too much, haven't you?"

Thing 1 and thing 2 came back to the car and barked, "No talking!"

They sat in silence for most of the car ride, but at least Cindy could see out, and Ilsa's hand found hers and squeezed. 

_Rescue doesn't seem very likely, but it's better than it was,_ Cindy supposed,_ now that they're here._

* * *

After half an hour of discussing possible avenues of search and rescue, Guerrero had had enough. He had been eyeing his phone for a while, and he really didn't see any other way to go about this. "I'm calling Pat," he said, grabbing his phone and interrupting Winston's long discussion with Chance.

"Your cousin?" Chance asked.

"Yep," Guerrero said, searching through his contacts. "She was friends with Darcy. She might have her number."

"Wait, lemme get this straight," Winston said, holding up a hand. "You have relatives?"

Guerrero gave him a look. "People don't hatch out of eggs, dude."

"Does she have red hair?" Amanda asked suddenly.

Guerrero nodded, busy. Amanda tilted her head to the side, thinking.

"So you're having your cousin give you Darcy's number? And then you're gonna do what?" Chance asked.

"Hold on, who's Darcy?" Winston asked.

"Baptiste's on again, off again fling," Guerrero said. "And I might not have to do anything. Pat can threaten Darcy all by herself." He stopped scrolling when he landed on 'Patricia Moore.' He hit connect, and it started ringing.

Click. "Guerrero, why are you calling me?" a vaguely amused female voice said on the other end of the phone. "You only call me when you want something."

"Not always."

"But most of the time. Last time you called, I got stuck helping you take down that multimillion dollar corporation. The one with the ridiculous acronym."

"ANCHOR?"

"Yes. So. Why are you calling?"

"Cindy has been kidnapped, along with two others on my team. I need your help."

There was silence on the other end of the line. "Cindy?" Pat repeated.

"Yes."

"You never sent me her picture."

"It was dangerous."

"Apparently. Who had the guts to kidnap my niece?"

"Technically she's not your niece."

"Shut up, Guerrero. What do you need?"

Guerrero smiled. "I need you to call Darcy."

More silence. Then, "It was _Baptiste?"_ Pat said in a livid tone.

"Actually, we think it was the old man, but Baptiste helped, and we need to know where Joubert's operating from."

"I'll see what I can do," Pat said in a deadly tone of voice. "Where are you working these days?"

"San Francisco."

"See you soon." The line disconnected.

Guerrero looked up at Winston and Chance. "Get packed. She'll probably have a location within an hour."

"Really?" Winston said.

"She's that good," Guerrero conceded.

* * *

A couple thousand miles away, a woman slowly put the phone receiver back into its cradle. Her temper was volatile, flaring up at a moment's notice. Her mother always said it came from her red hair and Irish ancestry. But her anger burned cold –it was easier to think than with a hot rush that choked her common sense. Right now, though, Patricia Michelle Moore could really go for some target practice. With live targets. She fingered the gun in the back of her jeans. It was a tempting thought. Running a hand with perfectly manicured nails through her curly red hair, she thought for a minute, and then picked up the phone.

So Cindy wasn't her niece. Technically, they weren't even blood related. Guerrero was her step-cousin. And she hadn't seen the girl in years. But family was family, and she still remembered fondly the little bundled up child she had once held in her arms, as well as a friendship with her mother. She dialed a number she hadn't used in more than a year, and said, "Darcy? It's Pat. You're going to want to listen to me very carefully…"


	39. Chapter 37

**AN: so now begins the (somewhat) action-y chapters. Really, the next chapter is action-y, but just a heads-up: it makes me nervous to write action. So feel free to help me improve a bit, and I will be editing this story once I'm done. You can go ahead and start reading now :)**

Not ten minutes later, Guerrero got a call from Pat. "We've got a location," he announced. "It's the L.A. base."

Chance brightened considerably. "I know that base like the back of my hand," he said.

"This feels too easy," Winston grumbled. "Why would they take the girls to somewhere you know that good?"

"Pat isn't wrong often," Guerrero said, staring at his phone. "She'll be here in a few hours, too. Start getting a plan together, dude." He looked up in time to see Amanda's small smile. "What?"

"I remember her," Amanda said. "She had a very…take charge, no nonsense personality. Has she changed much?"

"Not really."

"Good," Amanda said, brushing her long hair off of her shoulders with her good hand. "You won't have any problems getting Cindy back."

He gave her a sidelong glance from behind his glasses.

She started to motion, and winced, having forgotten about her wrist. "Don't tell me you don't remember what she did with the whole Cobb thing."

"I do," he said, rather testily.

"Well then," Amanda said, as if that settled the matter. "Can I go home now?"

"The lock on your door is busted."

"All the more reason for me to go," she said. "So no one steals my junk."

"I can take you back," Guerrero said, "But just to get stuff. Not to stay."

"Then where will I go?" Amanda asked.

"You'll stay here."

She tilted her head to the side. "Have you even asked Chance?"

"He'll say yes," Guerrero said, turning away. "You coming?" he asked over his shoulder.

Amanda figured he needed to be doing something, anything, to keep his mind off of his daughter. She got that. Shoot, she remembered watching this then-stranger pace the hospital floors, learn all the nurses and doctors' names and information, and keep tabs on all the other nervous fathers as a way to pass the 12 hours of labor waiting for his kid to make it into the world. "Sure," she said.

But she wasn't gonna let him make her coffee in this state. She remembered those cups of black coffee –they tasted like mud. No way, no how.

* * *

"This bag smells like someone barfed in it," Ames muttered obstinately.

Cindy, whose bag didn't smell much better, agreed silently.

"I really must protest this treatment," Ilsa snapped. "Who do you think you are? And what do you want us for?"

"Shut up!"

Cindy rolled her eyes, the company of friends making her less afraid.

After a very long car ride, their captors had placed bags over their heads and switched vehicles for a van without windows. She refused to consider the option that they were all going to be shot and left in a dumpster somewhere. It was too much like that awful movie she had watched that one time on TV when Amanda had been working. She now figured it had been a horror film.

She didn't like horror films.

The van came to a stop with a jerk, and Cindy was pulled out and nearly fell. "No talking," Baptiste said. "Let's go."  
Cindy shuffled in the direction she was pushed until the hand on her shoulder motioned right or left, or stop. All she knew was, there was concrete under her feet; they were bare, so she could feel it. Then it changed to sort of tile, or linoleum. They paused for a second, and she heard the ding of an elevator, as well as the ka-thunk sound of the doors opening. Shoved forward, she got in and soon felt the rapid upward movement.

"Can we stop for a sec? I think I left my stomach on the third floor –ughngg!" Ames said, as someone hit her, maybe in the stomach that she claimed to have lost. Cindy hunched her shoulders to dodge any blows that would come her way.

Propelled out of the elevator, they walked somewhere. Cindy could only tell that the air conditioner was on a much cooler setting, and it smelled like smoke. She remembered that she was in her pajamas, and felt slightly embarrassed.

"Stop," Baptiste's voice said.

The bags were yanked off of their heads unceremoniously. Cindy blinked and blew the hair out of her eyes.

"So," the raspy voice of someone who had been a heavy smoker said, "We've got the bait."

He was a stocky man with close-cropped iron-grey hair, placed behind a desk in a dark, luxurious office room. He looked old enough to be past the prime of life, but still as tough as an old boot and strong as ever.

_The old man?_ Cindy wondered.

There was another man in the room as well. His skin was white, like he never went out in the sun, but his hair as curly and black. His eyes were sharp and blue, like ice. "Presumably, Junior and the rest of his team are already very aware of their absence and trying to discover their whereabouts."

"That's the point, mate," Baptiste said sarcastically. _He doesn't like him, _Cindy noted.

"Take them to the secured holding rooms," the old man said. "Security is now on high alert."

Cindy had never actually been fishing, but she could imagine; she had read a lot of books. Fishing, on the one hand, could be a fun, relaxing sort of venture where parent-child bonding went on as they talked and watched the sky change colors throughout the day, and not care if they got a bite or not. But she had never really considered how very _scary_ fishing could be. The bait was speared on a hook and dangled temptingly in front of the fish, and the fisherman slowly reeled it in.

But seriously, can't the fish see the big thumping fishhook and line and sinker just _sitting there?_

Cindy hoped and prayed that her dad could see them. But she knew he'd come anyway.

_He does that,_ she told herself as they were herded away.

* * *

Amanda, now in possession of necessary things like clothes and money and toothpaste, was sitting on the couch, listening to the three men bicker about what the best rescue option was. Guerrero put another lock on her apartment door, so she didn't have to worry about burglaries, and the next-door neighbor was taking care of the cat. Now if she could only remember there was a splint on her wrist and not move her arm so much…

She smiled as the elevator began to whirr and they didn't even hear it.

A redheaded woman stepped out of it, looking ready for anything. Jeans and a black leather jacket set the tone for simplicity and elegance, and her ostentatiously curly hair did its best to contradict her outfit. "Hey," she said. "I hear arguing, so I guess I'm in the right place."

"Yep," Amanda agreed. "Are you Patricia?"

The woman nodded. "Call me Pat. You look vaguely familiar."

"Amanda," she said, standing up and holding out her unbroken hand. "We met briefly eleven years ago when Cindy was born."

"Ah," Pat said, gripping her fingers in a handshake. "That's it. Brilliant." She tilted her head to the side and called, "Hey, don't I even get a hello from relatives?"

Guerrero walked out of the meeting room. "Took you long enough."

"Your directions suck," Pat retorted.

"No, you just can't find your way out of the airport."

She smiled easily. "So you gonna introduce me or what?"

Chance and Winston walked out behind him. "Pat, everybody, everybody, Pat," Guerrero said, motioning.

Chance rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "I'm Chance, this is Winston," he said, hooking a thumb at the scowling man behind him. "Pleased to meet you."

"Same," Pat said. "Okay. What's the situation?"

"The LA base is the central hub of operations, basically," Chance said. "It's a thirty-floor part office, part residential high-rise. Joubert owns all of it. The blueprints filed with the city aren't correct, so we've started penciling in the modifications. However, there's a… discrepancy in how to go about getting in there, since our faces," he motioned toward himself and Guerrero, "are known, and Winston's probably is, too."

"Well, mine isn't," Pat said. "Probably the only person who knows my face is Baptiste."

"We can't send in just one person to rescue three people," Chance said.

"Can I see the blueprints?" Pat asked, tossing her jacket on a chair.

Amanda smirked. Yes, this rescue would go just fine.

* * *

Guerrero unrolled the blueprints and pointed out the penciled in areas. "Joubert's made some major modifications to this building above the tenth floor," Guerrero said. "The bottom half is just a bunch of fronts and cover-ups for the real stuff going on."

"What goes on?" Pat asked.

"Whatever he wants," Guerrero said. "Mostly assassinations, theft, takedowns, that sort of thing. Floors eleven through thirty are the main operations of the organization. Of the nineteen floors, I think floor twenty-one is the best bet for where they'd be held." He pointed on the schematics.

Pat raised an eyebrow. "What?" In her book, thirty minus ten did not equal nineteen.

Chance explained, "There isn't a thirteenth floor. Superstition and all that."

"Ah," Pat said, understanding.

Winston took over. "We could make like the Jakarta job and the Centronics building, and take a jump for the roof."

"True," Chance said, "But there'd be guards."

"There's gonna be guards everywhere, dude," Guerrero said. "Look. What's the point here?" Everyone looked at him. "Getting the girls back," he said, like it was a no-brainer. "What's Joubert's plan in all this?"

"Hitting us where it hurts," Chance muttered.

"Exactly," Guerrero said. "And we don't know what that entails yet, bro. Stealth isn't a must." His eyes gazed steadily at Chance, and his expression was firm –he didn't care how they got them back, just as long as they did, no harm done.

"So what're you thinking?" Chance asked, leaning back.

"A mix of an Uncle Billy, a Cousin Pablo, and a Norma Jean," Guerrero said, leaning back.

Chance stared at him for a second, and then blinked. "Pretty risky. Who's going to do the Norma Jean?"

"Pat's pretty good at it." Guerrero said.

"Yeah, that's right," Winston said. "You've done it before!" His eyes grew huge. "Did you really have _twins_?"

"Yep," Pat said, grinning. "They're about five now."

"What'd you do to the guy?" Winston asked, taken aback.

"She married him," Guerrero said, his expression full of disapproval. Pat smiled widely and licked her lips.

"Oh, brother," Winston muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Enough about my love life," Pat said, coughing, "Back to planning."


	40. Chapter 38

**AN: when someone cuts your mouth open and sews it back up, you don't feel like doing much. apologies.**

The room was cold and bare, with white tile on the floor and white walls and a camera in the upper left corner. There wasn't any furniture, either. Cindy's bare feet didn't like it.

After the door slammed emphatically, Ames said, "Same to you!"

"I don't understand," Mrs. Pucci said anxiously. "What do they want us _for_?"

"We're bait," Ames said. "Didn't you hear him?"

"But _why_?" Mrs. Pucci asked, confused.

"Because that's the old man," Cindy said, settling down with her back against the wall and the door in front of her.

"Who is the old man, dear?" Mrs. Pucci asked, sitting down beside her on the right. Ames came and sat on Cindy's left.

"Chance's old boss," Cindy said wonderingly. "Don't you know?"

"Whoa, that guy was Chance's boss? What's up with that?" Ames asked.

"Oh!" Mrs. Pucci said in recognition. "Because that man called Baptiste was Mr. Chance's old friend from assassin days, and he works for this man, do you think he told him about us?"

"Who's Baptiste?" Ames asked.

"The black man with a goatee who sounds British," Mrs. Pucci said. "That was when you went back East for a bit. Cindy, do you know this …old man's name?"

"Sure," Cindy said. "Joubert."

"So you think Mr. Chance left his…organization and this man wants revenge?" Mrs. Pucci quizzed her.

"I guess," Cindy said. "But not just Chance. My dad left too. And Winston helped Chance out, so him too."

"So it's all of them," Mrs. Pucci said contemplatively.

"So were we grabbed because we had no connection, or because we're girls?" Ames asked disgustedly. "That is sexist!"

"I quite agree, but we can't really do anything about it," Mrs. Pucci said. "We must rely on Mr. Chance and his expertise."

"Well, I'm gonna see what I can do about this lock," Ames said, not content to just sit.

"Why do you call him 'Mr.' Chance?" Cindy asked Mrs. Pucci, looking up at her.

"Because it's respectful, dear," Mrs. Pucci said.

"Oh," Cindy said. She knew that, of course, but she was just so used to the men addressing each other by their last name only. She did it, and Ames did it, so she guessed it just sounded funny when Mrs. Pucci didn't. "That's not his real name, you know," she told the woman.

"Really?" Mrs. Pucci said, as Ames muttered over the lock on the door.

Cindy shook her head. "It's sort of like a title. He got it from the guy who was the organization's archenemy. He used to be called Junior."

"Is that what Joubert called him?"

Cindy nodded.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Pucci murmured. "No wonder that man wants revenge."

* * *

The brunette looked like any other average commuter standing in the city bus, holding her big purse with one hand and a cup of coffee with the other. But the hair was a wig and the sunglasses covered up the eyes that scanned over the passengers and the street with intensity as her destination approached. Her eyes spotted the AT&T van parked along the curb further up the block.

"Spotted the bus," Winston's voice crackled in her ear. "Are you in position?"

Pat surreptitiously tapped her earpiece twice as she brushed her (fake) hair behind her ears, the signal for "affirmative."

* * *

"Pat's good to go," Winston said, staring at his monitors. "How we doin', Guerrero?"

The back door of the van pulled open and the short man hopped inside. "Done," he said, stripping off the electrician garb to reveal his usual jeans and dark, loose shirts.

"That was fast," Winston mumbled. "Will the signal hold?"

Guerrero silenced him with a glare from behind his round glasses.

"Well, excuse me for livin'," Winston mumbled. He keyed in the earpiece. "We're all set here, Chance."

"Good," Chance's voice said. "Get ready."

* * *

Pat walked in the door of the tall building and lobbed her coffee cup into the trashcan placed by the door. She sauntered up to the front desk, giving the eyes in the lobby ample time to take in her long legs made longer by her heels, the smart, tight business suit, and the cute brown haircut that was the itchiest wig on the planet. She smiled prettily at the man behind the desk and politely inquired as to the correct floor for the law firm. All eyes were on her, and not on the person who came in behind her.

* * *

"You in position, Chance?" Winston asked.

Two taps signaled yes. Guerrero drummed his fingers on the table inside of the van restlessly.

"Whenever you want, Pat," Winston said. "Your call."

* * *

Pat smiled at the man behind the counter once more and sauntered for the elevator, her large purse swinging reassuringly against her hip. She stepped in, and the doors closed. "I'm in," she said, immediately kicking off her heels. "Go!"

* * *

Winston said, "Pull it, Chance!" Immediately the fire alarm bells came ringing in through the comm. link. Winston rapidly typed in the protocols for security onto his computer, winced, and hit enter. "Go, Pat," he signaled.

* * *

Immediately, Pat inserted the keycard into the slot in the elevator. Access to the top floors was granted only by having such a key. Hopefully, the overrides Guerrero had wired into select parts of the security mainframe would accept this 'skeleton' key card. She grinned as the light turned green. Punching the button for floor twenty, she hastily began to change as the elevator began to travel up. "It worked!" she said.

* * *

Winston let out a slow breath and stared at Guerrero. "How did you do that?" he asked.

"I'm that good," Guerrero said. "Don't relax, big guy; we're not out of the woods yet."

* * *

Pat jumped up and knocked aside the upper elevator panel, stuffing up the purse that now contained her disguise up on top of the elevator. She hauled herself up after it; perfectly capable of doing so now that she was in black leather pants and jacket. The elevator came to a stop at floor twenty. To ensure it didn't go anywhere, she hit the stop button on the top of the elevator and jimmied the door open, crawling out onto the floor she wanted –twenty-one. Now it was time for trial and error search, relying on the blueprints she had memorized the day earlier. "Beginning to search," she said, hoping Chance was doing a good job as a distraction committee.

* * *

"Wish we could've gotten a security camera feed," Winston grumbled, for about the millionth time.

"Security is too tight, dude," Guerrero said. "We were lucky to get the override protocol."

"Oh, so now we were _lucky,"_ Winston drawled.

Chance's voice on the comm. interrupted Guerrero from delivering his blistering retort. "Heading up the north stairwell," he said. "This still feels too blatant."  
"No," Winston corrected him, "_blatant _is walking out in the open and asking snipers in the Swiss alps to shoot you! And you did _that. _By comparison, this is covert operations."

Gunfire popped and a scuffle was heard over Chance's earpiece. "Got him," Chance finally said, breathing heavily. "Point taken."

* * *

The silence that had settled over the three captives was broken by muffled thumps and bangs out in the corridor. Ames placed herself beside the door, ready to jump anyone who came through it.

Not a minute later the door flew open and a redheaded woman stopped Ames' attack with a practiced hand. "Now is that any way to treat your rescuer?" she asked conversationally.

The woman grinned at Cindy and said, "Hey hon. I'm your Aunt Pat."

Cindy could feel the irresistible grin breaking out across her face. She didn't fight it. "Awesome!" she yelled.

"Let's go, girls," Pat said, holding the door open. "Time's a-waisting."

Mrs. Pucci seemed inclined to trust her, and Ames was staring at her in amazement. As for Cindy, she demanded, "Is my dad here?"

"And Mr. Chance?" Ilsa asked.

"Downstairs," Pat said. "I'll get you to 'em as soon as possible." She touched her ear. "The eggs are in the basket."

* * *

"Good!" Winston exclaimed. "Now you get 'em downstairs through the route we showed you while Chance distracts the guards some more."

Guerrero cracked his neck, the only sign that he was stressed at all.

Winston switched feeds. "Chance, we've got 'em. Keep distracting."

"They're safe?" Chance asked over the 'pop' of pistols shots.

"Pat's got them," Winston confirmed.

"Good," Chance said. "Then I'm gonna sign off now, old buddy."

"What?" Winston snapped. "What're you talkin' about?"

Labored breathing came over the comm. unit. "I have to settle this, Winston. I have to make sure this never happens again."

"Chance, we've got to stick to the plan!" Winston said.

"See you," Chance said. There was no more movement static; he had taken the earpiece out.

Winston cursed, loudly and eloquently. "What does he think he's doin', tryin' to pull a fool thing like this?" he barked.

Guerrero leaned back and stared at the van wall. "If he screws this up, so help me…" he muttered. Winston glanced at him, surprised, and then realized –this was Guerrero. There would be no outpourings of profanity. When he got angry –_really_ angry –he filled the air with deadly silence.

Winston was filled with trepidation. He could only hope the rest of this went smoothly.

* * *

"This way!" Pat called, leading the two women and her niece through the hallways and down the stairwells. They had mapped out a route out of the building based on Chance's distractions and probabilities of where the goons would be deployed in the building. With some luck, they'd be able to get out without being detained too drastically. The guys had assured her they knew all the routes like the back of their hands, and it was a sure way out.

But with rescues, if the worst can happen, it will. Murphy's Law in action, right there. Pat had enough time to put on the brakes and draw her gun before plunging headlong into a swarm of guards right where she needed to go.

She fired her gun twice and yelled, "Back up!" to her charges. "Winston, the way is blocked!" Pat said. "I'm going to try to go around. Can you send Chance up here? We're on floor nineteen."

Winston's voice crackled in her ear. "Chance is on the loose!" he said. "He got it into his head that he needs to settle things between Joubert and him."

"For cryin' out loud," Pat snarled, still retreating down the hallway. "I need some help here!" She fired down the passage again.

"Where are they comin' from?" Winston asked.

"The floor below," Pat said.

* * *

Winston ground his teeth as Guerrero leaned over his shoulder. "Okay, I'll talk you around to the second stairwell –" Winston began.

"Hold up, dude," Guerrero commanded. "Pat, can you go up?"

"Uhhh…" her voice came through the mic. "Yeah. Why would I want to, though?"

Guerrero clenched his fists. "Joubert made modifications to the building. There's a kitchen on the bottom floor for a restaurant, but there's a dumbwaiter shaft that runs up."

"Which floor?" Pat asked.  
"Any floor above twenty three," Guerrero said.

"Okay. Up we go," Pat said. "Why didn't you mention this before, Guerrero?"

"Not sure how much the dumbwaiter shaft can take," Guerrero said.

"Lovely," Pat panted.

Guerrero grabbed his jacket and a gun from the van. "I'll go secure the kitchen."

Winston snapped, "You don't have an earpiece! What do you think you're doin'?"

"Fixing this rescue," Guerrero snarled. "Tell Pat that the dumbwaiter shafts open behind pictures of food against the north wall of any floor above twenty three." He slammed the door behind him.

Winston asked, "Did you get that, Pat?"

"Yep," she said. "We passed floor twenty and twenty-one. Again. Two more floors to go."


	41. Chapter 39

**AN: Only one more chapter after this, which will hopefully be up by Monday. And I really apologize if anyone seems OOC. I cannot find anywhere to watch the episodes over again. So these previous and upcoming chapters have been annoying me greatly as I try to keep everyone in character {It's like herding cats} and writer's block. I hope you like it anyway :)  
**

"You've done a number on them, mate."

Chance paused in his cleanup of Joubert's personal army to turn to the man who came around the corner. "Oh, I don't know. It was nothing _personal_, at any rate," he said, taking a step forward.

Baptiste recognized the words. "I didn't want to, mate. You've got to believe that. It was Joubert and Forrest."

"Okay. I'll start on them, after I finish with you," Chance said, pointing the gun at him.

"Don't have to, mate." Baptiste raised his hands in an 'I surrender' gesture.

"Don't have to start, or finish?"

"Finish," Baptiste said. He laughed, but the laugh got stuck in his throat. "I don't want this anymore, mate. Believe me."

"Really," Chance said grimly, his tone clouded with disbelief. "Forgive me if I choose not to, since all your actions contradict your words."

Baptiste shook his head. "I know. But it was too much …the money, the –he gave me his watch," Baptiste said. "The old man. And 20 million." He laughed. "Ridiculous, right? But I named it and he didn't even haggle. Because he needed me."

"And that's why you did it?" Chance asked, clenching his fists.

"Yeah," Baptiste said. "The lure of something I've never had. I've never been needed before," he explained. "He always had you."

Chance looked him in the eye and knew he was telling the truth. Once he had been almost a brother to this man.

"So now you know," Baptiste said, shrugging, his hands still in the air. "What happens now, mate?"

"Where is Joubert?" Chance demanded.

"Not sure. Probably in his office," Baptiste said.

"Okay. This is what's gonna happen. You're gonna tell me the key code to get in. And then you're gonna remember that we know where Darcy lives, and you're gonna get one –ONE! –chance to prove that you don't want this life anymore."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Baptiste said.

"Change," Chance said. "And if you_ don't_, then I'm coming after you."

* * *

Cindy barely felt the stair treads under her bare feet as the four of them pounded back upstairs. Her lungs hurt, and she wondered if all rescues were like this. It was sort of tiring. No wonder Winston yelled at Chance to go to the hospital after every job they did.

She quite liked this woman who was her aunt. The curly red hair bounced against her back as they ran up the stairs. Cindy wished her hair was curly instead of wavy. Then maybe she'd go rescue people too.

Pat took a decisive right through the stairwell doors and they all burst out onto the twenty-fourth floor. "Pictures of food against the north wall," Pat said, before she jabbed her elbow into the neck of a surprised man in a suit. He went down without a sound. "Go!"

Cindy scanned the walls, looking for food. Food was a good thing to put in front of a dumbwaiter, right? She actually wasn't quite sure what a dumbwaiter was… the picture in her head was a tiny elevator.

Would they _fit?_

"Found it!" Ames exclaimed, running to the picture of a still life. A bunch of fruit in a bowl, how cliché could you get? "How do you get it open?" she muttered, yanking on it.

The four of them converged on the painting, rapping, tapping, and thumping, but Cindy was the one who found the hidden catch in the bottom of the frame.

"Good work, kiddo," her Aunt Pat said, flashing her a grin. The picture slid aside to reveal something rather cupboard sized.

* * *

"O-kay…" Ames said. "So um, how are we –"

"You're going first," Pat said, pulling a gun she had in the back of her waistband and handing it to Ames. "Safety's on the left. Don't shoot yourself. Guerrero?" she said into the comm. link.

"Winston here," the man grumbled. "He went in to secure the kitchen, I guess."

"We found it," Pat said briskly. "Sending Ames down first."

"Hey, why me?" Ames asked, wary of the tiny box.

"You're skinny and you can take down any goons that might be there," Pat said. Ames started to puff up from what she considered praise, but Pat said, "Get in."

* * *

Stuffing Ames into the dumbwaiter was tough. Skinny she was, but her legs and arms were sort of long. Cindy had to sort of bend her feet the wrong way to get all of her in there. Mrs. Pucci expressed doubts about getting herself in there. Finally, Pat pressed the button and shut the door, sending the dumbwaiter on its way.

"How long does it take to get down there?" Cindy asked.

"Don't know," Pat said, keeping her back to the wall.

Cindy observed that she was scanning for threats and resolved to do the same.

"When it comes back up, you're next, Mrs. Pucci," Pat said.

* * *

Guerrero heard the hum of the dumbwaiter stop. He opened the door, and took a moment to wonder how in the world Pat had managed to accomplish this.

"Well get me out of here already!" Ames said in a slightly panicked voice. "I'm starting to develop claustrophobia!"

Guerrero rolled his eyes and yanked her out feet first, then sent the dumbwaiter back up.

She sort of folded up on the floor, but then she stood up and stared goggled eyed at the pile of unconscious men in the corner. "How did you do that?" she asked, in awe.

"Trade secret," Guerrero told her. "Go watch the exit."

Ames looked like she wanted to open her mouth again, but the glare behind his glasses stopped her. She took the safety off the gun and ventured toward the exit.

The dumbwaiter whirred to life again, going down, and Guerrero bit down the urge to pace. When it came to a stop, he yanked the door open, and it was just as well he did, because Mrs. Pucci burst out of it. She scrambled away from it mumbling, "…never going back in there AGAIN!" and shaking. She must have a thing about small spaces, he thought.

"Ames is out that door," Guerrero said. "Go to the telephone van down the street. Winston's there."

"Where's Mr. Chance?" she asked.

"Being a diversion. Now move!"

Mrs. Pucci nodded gratefully at him and went.

He sent the dumbwaiter back up for the second time.

* * *

The sound of feet made Cindy jump, and Pat gripped her gun tightly. There wasn't any cover near. Cindy bit her lip as the dumbwaiter came up the shaft once again.

"Okay, kiddo, it's a good thing we're both smallish," Pat said in a low voice.

"We're not gonna fit!" Cindy hissed.

"We're gonna fit."

"We're _not gonna fit!"_ Cindy repeated heatedly.

"Think positively; negativity makes you bloat," Pat said as the dumbwaiter came to a halt. She opened the door and boosted Cindy into the small space. Cindy pulled her knees in tightly and squished herself against the wall.

"Hey!" Someone yelled, and Pat fired at whoever-it-was several times before launching into the dumbwaiter. Cindy was being squished, but somehow Pat contorted herself into a pretzel shape long enough to stay in and shut the door.

Cindy wondered if anyone had ever been squished to death, and if not, would she be the first?

"It hasn't got a recall button so there's nothing they can do to pull us back up!" Pat crowed.

Cindy made a small sound along the lines of "oomph!"

"Sorry, kiddo."

* * *

A door creaked. He turned, going for his gun.

"So you're the famous Guerrero," someone said. A man with black hair and pale had a gun trained on him. Didn't he realize that that was a horrible idea? "Put the gun down and kick it to me."

Guerrero slowly lowered his gun to the ground and nudged it towards the man with his foot. Guerrero caught glimpse of an open bottle of canola oil on the counter where someone had left it out.

"I deduced that they would use the dumbwaiter system after being cut off," the man said smugly, if someone could sound smug and cold at the same time. "And here I find you, making my suspicions correct."

"You must be Joubert's new thinking machine," Guerrero said, pointedly not looking at the stove, which was on. Guerrero wondered just how long he could survive if he locked him in the freezer. Or maybe he should just break his neck.

"Close," the man said scornfully, resentment oozing out of his dark eyes as he walked closer. "Your replacement."

Guerrero just raised his eyebrows behind his glasses.

"But I'm going to be a lot more than that, once I kill you," he said.

Guerrero heard the dumbwaiter whirr behind him, and he knew it was on its way down carrying either Pat or Cindy. He had to move now. "I've got to tell you, dude," he said, "no one can replace me."

Before the man knew what happened, Guerrero struck, kicking the gun out of his hand. He grabbed the bottle of canola oil and tossed the liquid into his eyes and onto his clothes. The man blinked vainly and struck out at him. Guerrero dodged expertly and shoved the man backwards, right onto the gas stove. His weight shoved one of the pots off of the flame and his sleeve caught fire, which quickly spread.

Guerrero blocked out the sound of his screaming and kicked him in the direction of the door. The automatic sprinklers began to go off just as the dumbwaiter stopped.

* * *

"GUERRERO OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME –" Pat yelled.

The door opened and Pat was hauled out, and Cindy could finally breathe easy again. Ignoring Pat's remark about the sprinklers "oh, great, my hair's gonna frizz", Guerrero reached in and pulled out Cindy.

"Daddy!" Cindy said, throwing herself out of the dumbwaiter and attempting to squeeze the life out of him. "I knew you were coming," she mumbled into his chest.

Guerrero didn't say anything, just held on to her as if he would never let her go.

"We've got to get out of here," Pat reminded him, tugging on his shirtsleeve. "C'mon Guerrero!"

"Let's go," Guerrero said, carrying Cindy out through the still spurting sprinklers.


	42. Chapter 40

**AN: Last chapter! Okay, it's Wednesday, sorry. But it's here! And I like the end -sweet and fluffy :D Please review, and then go to my profile and check out the poll I've posted to give me some feedback on what I should do when I edit this story in the far off future. **

**I've enjoyed this journey so much, and y'all have been a key component. YOU ROCK! Thanks so much!**

**~MBE**

* * *

There were sirens wailing. That was what she noticed right off when they burst out of the building, collecting Ames on the way. Winston opened the door of the van with a look of intense relief on his face, and also anxiety. Guerrero pushed Cindy into the van, and Ames and Pat followed. Guerrero slammed the door after he got in.

"Everybody here?" he asked.

"Everyone except Mr. Chance," Mrs. Pucci pointed out in a worried sort of way.

"No way he's getting out of _that_," Winston muttered pessimistically, as squad cars began to pull up and surround the building. "What possessed him to do a fool thing like that, goin' off on his own…"

"Be positive, dude," Guerrero said, and Cindy smiled, just hearing him say that. "There's always plan b."

"Plan b?" Winston repeated in a voice of disbelief.

Something exploded. Everyone stuck their heads out of the windows.

"Plan b, I presume?" Pat asked wryly as they all watched Chance float down on a parachute, blown down the slanted street by the winds.

* * *

The TV hummed in the background, playing the familiar strains of "Tomorrow" from _Annie_. Cindy dozed on Chance's couch, full of waffles and ice cream and other unhealthy concoctions, feeling very warm and comfortable and safe.

Winston had given both Amanda and Ames a lift home, as Ames offered Amanda a place to stay until she could get her apartment cleaned up. Pat had gone to stay at a hotel after Cindy extracted a promise from her that she would come back tomorrow and tell her about herself and her kids and how she knew her mother. Chance had driven Ilsa back to her penthouse.

Carmine had sat on her feet protectively the moment she entered Chance's place and drooled irrepressibly on her pants. He made her miss her kitten, and she hoped he was okay, but Amanda had assured her she had gotten somebody to take care of him.

She yawned again, fighting a losing battle against her tired body, her worn out mind, and all the stress and anxiety of the previous days. She curled into a ball as the movie sped ever onward, slipping off to sleep before the climax.

* * *

Guerrero wasn't touchy feely. He just wasn't. It was not in his nature. He was a pragmatist and a pessimist, and people downright annoyed him sometimes.

He had concluded a long time ago that Cindy wasn't anywhere near the category he labeled 'people.'

She had her own special category, called 'daughter.'

And there the rules and guidelines of his life were very different.

He leaned against the doorframe, sipping the decaf coffee in his special mug that she had made for him at Christmas, watching her watch the TV. He saw her head nod and her eyes close, and he knew that she should go to bed. He briefly considered taking her up, but he didn't want to risk waking her. She could stand a night on the couch; it was a really comfortable couch. He settled for draping a blanket over her curled up form.

When his phone vibrated in his pocket, Guerrero walked into the kitchen to answer it. The number was Chance's. "Hey bro," Guerrero said, briefly glancing into the fridge, but when he saw no containers labeled 'Winston', he shut the door. "You mind if I crash at your place tonight?"

"Sure thing," Chance said, and the tone made it sound like he was smiling.

"How's the boss?" Guerrero asked blandly.

"… How'd you know I was at Ilsa's?" Chance asked, now slightly disgruntled.

"Lucky guess," Guerrero admitted, smirking.

"Well…apparently, the way she recovers from being kidnapped is to rearrange the furniture," Chance said ruefully. "I'm helping her." Of course, in Chance speak, that meant, 'I'm moving the furniture and she's directing.'

Guerrero took a moment of silence to ponder the absurdity of such a thing.

"I've moved the sofa about three times," Chance said. "But she's making me dinner."

"Everything comes out about even," Guerrero acknowledged, sipping more of his coffee. "Meant to ask you, dude…what'd you say to him?"

Chance didn't say anything.

"Death isn't your style, dude, not intentionally. That's my side of the street," Guerrero said. "So if you didn't kill him, you must've had words."

"Yeah," Chance said.

"So?"

"I told him…in terms that he would understand…that I was never coming back, and he was never gonna mess with anyone I cared about ever again. And if he tried, _then_ I'd put his training to use against _him_. I told him I wasn't afraid of him anymore."

"You went too easy on him," Guerrero said, thinking that if he had had the chance to confront the old man, he'd have inflicted pain that was too unbearable to even think about. Probably with a dull kitchen knife or some sort of staple gun, and if all else failed, cigar cutters.

"Not really," Chance said softly. If Guerrero thought about it, he could see his point. Having the man who had been like your surrogate son for ten years turn from you and embrace the lifestyle of your archenemy (of sorts) was painful. And even more so if that son comes back and says to your face that he doesn't want your life anymore.

But still, there should have been pain. Lots of physical pain, for kidnapping his kid.  
He glanced towards the couch where Cindy was still sleeping soundly, despite Carmine beating his tail rhythmically against the sofa leg.

"Yeah, anyway," Chance said, "I called to ask you to remember to feed Carmine."

"Already done," Guerrero told him. Cindy had taken care of it, and slipped him a waffle or two as well as dog food.

"Okay, thanks. I'd better go; Ilsa's decided she wants to see if the opposite of everything looks better in her living room."

"Later, dude," Guerrero said. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

He had reached the bottom of his coffee cup and hadn't felt like another, so he put the mug in the sink and returned to Chance's den, where Cindy had sprawled and taken over most of the couch, except for one spot where someone could actually sit.

Hmm.

"Izzt mornnin yet?" Cindy mumbled, halfway waking up as he sat down in the empty space.

"No," Guerrero said. "Go back to sleep."

"'Kay," she said, snuggling up to him.

He let her snuggle and wrapped his one arm around her.

"Daddy?" she whispered, keeping one eye open to see the end of _Annie;_ she liked the end bit.

"Yep."

"Thanks. For…coming to get me."

Guerrero looked down at her through his round glasses. "I'm always gonna come and get you," he told her firmly, with hidden emotional force behind his words. There would be no way in the world that he wouldn't. She was his daughter.

Cindy looked up at him and smiled, wrapping her arms around him. "I love you."

In the darkness of the room, as the ending song played, "_I don't need anything but you…"_ Guerrero's mouth twitched into a smile.

"I love you, too."

**_The End_  
**


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